


To Be Alone

by harryismymuse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Betrayal, Daddy Kink, Desperation, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, Humiliation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Omorashi, Sex Addiction, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Teasing, Violent Sex, Voyeurism, Watersports, basically almost every type of legal age-appropriate sex you can think of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryismymuse/pseuds/harryismymuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title based of the song 'To Be Alone' by Hozier.</p><p>***They’d had discussions about it, of course. Maybe somewhere deep down Harry knew that complete abstinence wasn’t something that would work, because it didn’t take long to convince him to consider sex as an eventuality. But when?—when was the problem. Their conversations about it always went the same way: Niall tentatively asking if Harry was ready to move forward; Harry complaining that Niall was rushing him; Niall feeling like an ass for pressing the subject; Niall apologizing; Harry disappearing anyway, usually for a few hours, sometimes a few days... And Niall felt like a prisoner in his own body.***</p><p>OR Harry has a sex addiction, among other things, and he's trying his best to maintain control over his life, but he can't keep holding the reigns much longer before he gives in to his baser desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start

Niall loved his boyfriend Harry. More than he ever thought possible to love another person. Harry was kind, thoughtful, brilliant, beautiful, and quite possibly the most charming human being Niall had ever met. But he was also distant. Non-committal. Secretive. Unstable. And at times, a complete stranger.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Niall grinned as Harry’s eyes fluttered open and stared back at him; bright, sea glass green still unfocused with remnants of sleep. 

“Time is it?” Harry muttered groggily, pulling his hands out from under his pillow and bringing them up to rub at his face. His body was long and lean, spanning the entire length of the mattress. The bumps and curves of it visible even under the heavy white covers. 

“It’s Sunday, babe, don’t worry about it.” Niall, who’d been up for several minutes already watching him sleep, swept a stray curl back from Harry’s face and smiled. 

Harry grinned, soft and sweet around the edges. “Sunday already, huh?” He grasped at Niall’s finger and brought it to his lips, kissing the tip before he let it go. “So I get you all to myself today?”

Niall’s heart gave a hard thud in his chest, and he nodded, trying not to let his head spin. Maybe today will be the day, he thought. “Yeah, I was thinking we could just stay in today. You know… watch movies… nap…” Niall trailed off his sentence, hoping Harry understood what else he was hinting at. But Harry was yawning and stretching out his limbs like a sleepy kitten, making scrunchy faces and not paying Niall any mind. 

“Arghhh,” Harry groaned, grinning in satisfaction as his spine made a crackling sound. “That’s the spot.”

Trying to remain patient—and he was remarkably patient when it came to Harry—Niall cleared his throat and tried again. “Does that sound good to you, babe? A day in, just you and me?” He reached out and tickled at Harry’s shoulder to get his attention. Harry flopped his head over on the pillow so he was facing Niall once again, wide awake now. 

“Of course. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

Whatever Niall wanted to do. There was only one thing that Niall wanted to do with Harry that Sunday, and his dick twitched in his pants just at the thought of it. He hoped his face hadn’t gone red, because his cheeks were suddenly on fire. 

He leaned over then, placing one hand across Harry’s warm, smooth chest as he pressed their lips together. Harry tensed underneath him, as he always did, but it still hurt just the same. 

“Just relax, baby.” Niall breathed, going agonizingly slow as he moved from Harry’s lips to his jaw to his neck, trying not to get too excited when he heard a soft exhale by his ear. Harry’s skin tasted so good Niall could cry. 

Niall went on like this for quite some time, making it all the way down to Harry’s collarbone until a hand squeezed at his shoulder, and he looked up to see Harry with his eyes closed, shaking his head gently, ‘no’. 

Niall was so turned on he could barely focus his eyes, but he pulled his lips away from Harry’s skin and looked up at his boyfriend, waiting until Harry had gathered himself together enough to speak. 

“I can’t,” Harry bit out, an apology written in his eyes when he finally blinked them open. 

Niall felt something drop like a stone into the pit of his belly, and he’d never felt more desperate in his life. But he swallowed hard and reluctantly pulled away from Harry, instead returning to his own side of the bed and working to keep his emotions off of his face. 

“You’re angry,” Harry said, staring at Niall from where he was still lying, head on his pillow. His long, curly locks flowed out around him, making him look a bit like a beached mermaid. 

Niall took a moment to respond, making sure to keep his voice even. “I’m not angry, I’m just… This has been a little harder than I expected, I guess.”

“I told you it would be.”

Niall clenched his jaw and shook his head just the slightest bit. “It doesn’t seem like we’re making any progress at all, Harry. It’s been six months, and I still can’t even properly kiss you without worrying that it’s too much.”

Harry sat up at this, brows furrowed deeply as he glared at Niall. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when I will be.”

Niall felt like something heavy was pressing against his chest, choking off his air. “Maybe we should reconsider talking to a therapist.”

“We’ve discussed that. The answer is still no.” 

Niall felt a surge of anger rip through him then, white hot and so sudden he couldn’t contain it in time. “Well what the hell do you want me to do then, Haz? I can’t live like this!”

Harry got out of the bed so fast he almost tripped on his clumsy morning legs. He had tears welling in his eyes when he turned and tossed his pillow directly at Niall’s face, hitting him with a satisfying ‘poof’. “Stop fucking pressuring me, Niall. That’s what I want you to do.”

And when he grabbed his keys and walked out of their bedroom, Niall didn’t see Harry again till sometime late that night, when he came in silently through the front door and sat down beside Niall on the living room couch without a word. 

 

In total, Niall had known Harry for three years. And for two and a half of those, Niall was just a guy with a crush on his best friend that, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be completely unrequited. But it was Harry who’d asked Niall out in the end. 

They’d been moving boxes into Harry’s new house; the one he’d bought with the money from his first published book. They’d stopped to take a break and were drinking lemonade on the front porch steps when Harry turned to Niall and stared at him for a long time before he ever opened his mouth to say anything. Niall, knowing Harry better than anybody else, waited patiently until he was ready to speak. When he finally did, it went something like, “I need a roommate.”

To which Niall replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage, “You offerin’?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, thinking it over again before nodding his head ‘yes’. “But not as friends.”

Niall had frowned at this, his heart dropping to his stomach with hurt. “We can keep it professional, Haz, of course.”

“Not like that,” Harry said quickly, setting his lemonade down on the step and turning his knees towards Niall. “Like, I want you to be my boyfriend… if you want to…”

Niall’s memory is a little fuzzy at this point. Maybe because he actually blacked out a moment from the shock of what was coming out of Harry’s mouth. What Harry, who’d never seemed to show any romantic interest in Niall—or anyone else—ever, was asking him.

“Moving in together is usually not a first step for new couples,” Niall eventually replied after he’d come to terms with the initial question.

Harry had smiled then, slow and sweet as dripping honey, wrapping Niall even tighter around his finger than he already had him. “Well,” He said, quirking an eyebrow up. “You’re not exactly new to me, are you?”

So Niall agreed to being roommate and boyfriend in one breath, and he’d never felt so dizzy, but Harry wasn’t done yet. 

“There is something, though. And it’s not something a lot of people can deal with, so I understand if you change your mind because of it.”

Niall wrinkled his brow in confusion. What could there possibly be about Harry that he didn’t already know? “Okay, shoot,” He’d urged him on, interested to see what exactly he was talking about.

And Harry took one short inhale of breath, squaring his shoulders before admitting, “I’m celibate.”

If it were possible, Niall might have been even more shocked at that than Harry asking him out. “What do you mean celibate? Like you want to take it slow? I can do that.”

But Harry shook his head. “No, like I don’t want sex. I haven’t for three years now.”

“Jesus Harry, how are you still walking around?” Niall had whispered, glancing down pointedly at Harry’s crotch before glancing back up at him in horror. 

Harry blushed and laughed a little at that. “I still, uh, get off, you know. Just not with other people.”

It started to sink in then, and Niall felt the wind leave his lungs. “Oh. So if we were together, we wouldn’t…”

Harry nodded.

“Oh.” Niall stared down at his feet, contemplating what that would mean. They were twenty-one year old guys, after all. Even Niall, as mild-mannered and polite as he was, still thought about sex every day, most of the day. How to get sex. Who to have sex with. What sex with said person would feel like. And repeat. In the past two and a half years, he’d thought about sex with Harry so many times that he was half-expecting it to be the holy grail of all the sexual experiences he’d ever had. And then finding out he may never experience it at all… 

“See,” Harry said, his face falling just the slightest. “It’s a lot to ask of somebody.”

“Is it for, like, religious reasons?” Niall asked, trying to get a firmer grasp on the concept.

“No,” Harry said, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “It’s just…something I’ve decided. It works for me.”

“Well…” Niall scratched at his head and looked back at Harry, still finding himself ridiculously enamored with him in every way. He’d never loved another person more in his life, and honestly… he’d take whatever part of Harry he could get. “My answer’s still yes—obviously. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Harry.” 

 

Fast forward six months later, and Niall was still living in the house with Harry, just as much in love, but feeling like a prisoner in his own body. 

They’d had discussions about it, of course. Maybe somewhere deep down Harry knew that complete abstinence wasn’t something that would work, because it didn’t take long to convince him to consider sex as an eventuality. But when?—when was the problem. Their conversations about it always went the same way: Niall tentatively asking if Harry was ready to move forward; Harry complaining that Niall was rushing him; Niall feeling like an ass for pressing the subject; Niall apologizing; Harry disappearing anyway, usually for a few hours, sometimes a few days. 

And of course, Niall knew there were people who identified as asexual. Individuals who didn’t feel a need or desire for sex in general and were content to go without. At first, he thought maybe Harry was asexual; that he got off for purely health reasons. Maybe to destress or blow off steam. Did asexual people still masturbate? Niall wasn’t exactly sure. He’d tried researching, but ended up confusing himself more, so initially he’d just reserved to respect Harry’s wishes, however unique they might be. 

…And this worked for a while. But then—

“I used your laptop earlier,” Niall said as he and Harry sat across from each other at the dinner table. 

Harry froze with his fork half-way to his lips, and looked up at Niall. His voice was unnervingly calm when he said, “You used my laptop…?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but mine crashed, and I had to get the quarter grades in by midnight. So…” Niall put his fork down and took a deep breath. Harry’s face was already contorting into a scowl, and he could feel the argument coming on. So he just blurt it out. “I never knew you still watched porn,”

“What do you mean you didn’t know? Why wouldn’t I?” Harry gritted. “That’s not the point. You know how I feel about having my privacy invaded.”

Hurt, Niall resisted the urge to point out that he wasn’t some prying stranger—that he was his boyfriend and his best friend. “Look, I just thought that since you’re… since you don’t want to have sex that maybe you weren’t into it. I don’t know,”

“Just—” Harry’s jaw clenched, and in one swift motion, he’d tossed his fork onto his half-empty plate with a clang, and stood from the table, towering over Niall’s still-seated form. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look through my computer again.”

And, as was all too familiar, he stormed off again, leaving Niall to contemplate things alone. 

 

“I’m sorry Ni, but it sounds like he might be cheating.” Louis muttered sadly, rubbing Niall’s back as the he cried into his friend’s bony shoulder. They were sitting in Louis’ apartment, where Niall had showed up thirty minutes earlier, tears streaming pathetically down his face after he’d had yet another fight with Harry.

Niall sniffed and wiped his eyes roughly with the heels of his palms. “I don’t think so. Harry’s so predictable; he does the exact same thing, every day, whether I’m there or not. You can set a watch by him.”

Louis tried his best not to look amused by that comment, but he failed. “Okay, and how do you know what he does all day? You’re not there.”

Niall blushed deep red then, unable to hide his guilt, so he he admitted, “I’ve trailed him before. Quite a few times, at random… God, I sound crazy.”

“Nonsense,” Louis said, tugging him closer and burying his chin in Niall’s fluffy blonde hair. “I would have done the same thing.”

Niall was quiet for a while then, but eventually a laughed bubbled out of his lips, and pretty soon he was shaking with it. “That doesn’t make me feel any less crazy, you loon,” He giggled.

“Ah, this what I get for helping out a friend, is it?” Louis replied in mock offense. “Listen to me, Horan. I don’t care how crazy it sounds: there’s something weird going on with this situation, and if you two are going to last, you need to figure out what it is.” 

“Yeah,” Niall mumbled into the tear-damp sleeve of Louis’ t-shirt. “You’re probably right.”

Louis snorted. “Obviously.”

 

Answers. If Niall was going to find answers, he would have to break Harry’s number one house rule: no snooping. 

Niall had always assumed Harry’s extreme insistence on privacy was just a particularly annoying personality quirk, but now he couldn’t help thinking that Harry was hiding something behind all that privacy. It made him sick to think that there were still things he didn’t know about him, even after all those years. 

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna head to the store, did you want me to get anything specific while I’m there?” Harry walked up to where Niall was standing at the kitchen counter and gently touched the back of his hand to get his attention. Niall had been smearing cream cheese onto a freshly-toasted bagel, thinking about all the papers he’d have to grade over the weekend and groaning internally. But at Harry’s touch, an electric bolt shot through him and his pulse quickened as he looked up into those wide, gorgeous green eyes he never got sick of. 

“Nope, all good,” He grinned, tilting his head up to meet Harry’s goodbye kiss afterwards. “Love you!” He called out behind him as he walked away. 

“Love you, too,” Harry replied, and smiled before finally leaving out the door. 

Niall waited until he heard the engine of Harry’s car purr to life and then listened to the sound until it faded away to nothing. He was finally alone, and he had some time to snoop. 

 

The obvious place to start was in Harry’s office. Otherwise known as the office they were supposed to share until Harry monopolized it with all of his books and papers and knick knacks. Niall preferred to do his work at the kitchen table anyway, so he let it go without much of a fight. He hardly ever went in the office anymore, unless Harry was in there. And Harry was never really in there when Niall was around. 

The door creaked open with an agonizing screech. Niall poked his head in and looked around, seeing that everything was clean and tidy and in its place—almost anally so. Harry had always been a bit of a neat freak since he’d known him, so with a quick roll of his eyes, he stepped inside and began looking around. The process was an incredibly stressful one, just because Niall knew Harry remembered exactly where everything was placed and how. If one figurine was slightly out of line, he’d know, and Niall would have to fess up. 

For the most part, everything in the room seemed pretty boring. There were some attempts at an outline for Harry’s next book printed out and stacked next to his laptop, and some mail addressed to him that Niall recognized as a doctor’s copay fee and a few other bills. It was starting to look like Harry really was a complete and total square, after all. And Niall was just about to leave the room for good when something caught his eye; the glint of a lock on the bottom left desk drawer. Not that locked drawers were anything particularly exciting by themselves, but Niall knew for a fact that the desk had not come with one. So Harry had installed a lock on the desk for some reason, and Niall had no idea what it was. 

It was probably something like tax forms or identification documents. Something predictable and mundane like everything else in the room. Probably. But Niall had only been looking for ten minutes, and Harry would be gone at least another twenty, so he decided to bend forward and give the drawer a tug. It was locked, obviously, but he thought he’d try it anyway. 

There was no key in sight that Niall could see, so he ran up to the master bathroom to grab a couple of the Bobby pins Harry used in his hair sometimes to hold it up. When he got back in front of the lock, he wiggled the pins in the crevice until he heard that satisfying click that mean he’d successfully picked it. Niall silently thanked his childhood friends for daring him to learn how when he was eleven. 

The drawer certainly did not contain passports and birth certificates. 

“What the fuck?” Niall gasped into his own palm as he peered into the drawer like it was a ticking time bomb ready to blow at any second. Part of him wanted to be angry at Harry; why would he hide something like this? But mostly Niall felt lightheaded with hope. Hope that maybe this mean Harry wasn’t against a little physical pleasure after all. 

 

Niall didn’t touch anything—he was too nervous to go that far—but he did take a moment to look over all the contents. Three dildos: black, purple, and orange, varying in size and thickness, and arranged carefully side by side in the bottom of the drawer. The largest one was enough to have Niall’s eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Fuck,” he whispered, biting his lip. There were also butt plugs. At least ten different ones—also of varying size and color—one or two of which looked like they might be capable of vibrating. There were paddles, nipple clamps, gags, and a few other things Niall didn’t even recognize. It was like some sort of prized collection; everything in its place, shining like new. 

Niall couldn’t imagine Harry—his Harry?—using any of those things. It would be more plausible to think that he was collecting them as exceptionally lewd art pieces rather than for actual stimulation. But still, they were there… in a locked drawer nonetheless, and Niall had never been more turned on.

He checked one more time that everything was as he’d found it, then he relocked the drawer and left the study, feeling like he was going to implode. “Fuck—” That seemed to be the only thing he could manage to say. If Harry was into those things, why wouldn’t he just say so? Was he embarrassed? Niall cringed at that thought because honestly, if it meant he got to make love to his boyfriend, Niall would dress up as a French Maid every night of the week if Harry was into that. 

Harry would be home from the store any minute. Niall couldn’t just act normal; his entire body was buzzing with need. He wanted to fuck Harry so bad, he felt like he was losing his mind. He was going to have to go to some drastic measures. 

 

“Babe, I’m home,” Harry called down the hall as soon as he stepped into the house. “Babe?”

Niall heard the heavy footfalls as Harry walked slowly across the hardwood. “Ni? You there?”

When Harry finally found him, Niall was sitting on the living room couch, bare-assed, pants around his ankles, dick hard and wet in his hands. He barely even looked up when Harry rounded the corner, mouth slack and puffy. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his voice deeper than normal. 

Niall didn’t reply. He let a low moan slip out as his thumb swiped over the head of his dick. He was so close already, he didn’t know if he could hold out much longer. It didn’t make it any easier that when he looked up, he saw Harry’s eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed. He was turned on. He was turned on and Niall was doing that to him.

Niall choked out another moan, his hips rising off the couch cushions as he continued to stroke himself. Harry slowly set his grocery bag down on the love seat by the window and walked over to him. “Niall, stop,” He said, but the words were weak. 

Niall was too far gone to care anymore. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him as he flexed his legs and groaned with his quickening pace. “Fuck, Harry…” He panted, eyes closed, cringing as he felt his orgasm build. “Harry… Harry… Harry…”

He came in long spurts, most of which hit him in the belly. His toes curled as he jerked himself through the last of it. He hadn’t even realized it, but Harry had sat down on the couch beside him and was watching with him so intently it made Niall’s heart thud. Dizzy from the high, his eyes slid down from Harry’s face to where he was gripping an obvious erection through his jeans. 

“I can take care of that for you…if you want.” Niall murmured, his voice low but clear between them. “I promise I’ll go slow.” It took everything he had not to jump on Harry right that second. He was already half hard again just at the thought. 

“Niall,” Harry whispered, and he looked so scared; like he was afraid of his own body’s reaction. 

“Come here, babe,” Niall reached out a hand and wiggled his fingers, willing Harry to come closer. He did, climbing gracefully into Niall’s lap, straddling his thighs. Niall closed his eyes momentarily at the weight of him, pressed down against his legs, wrapped around him tight. He could have come right there, but he held back. “We can do things however you like, okay? I’ll do whatever it is that you want.” He kissed Harry’s lips, tasting something sweet there. And Harry kissed him back, pushing urgently against his mouth and slowing down again, only to repeat the process. Niall smiled against Harry’s lips, loving every moment of it. Seeing Harry lose control was a beautiful thing. 

“You don’t have to be gentle with me, baby,” Niall said quietly, so afraid of breaking the spell. His hands crept up Harry’s legs at an agonizing pace until they came to rest at his little hips, gripping just enough to let Harry feel it. At the graze of Niall’s fingernails over the soft skin of his sides, Harry gasped and buried his face against Niall’s neck, whimpering into the skin there. Fucking whimpering. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Niall panted out, half a moan, half a whisper. 

His fingers moved to the tented crotch of Harry’s pants then, and when there was no protest, he rubbed his palm along the length of him, biting his lip hard when Harry moaned at the touch. “Like that, babe?” He asked breathlessly, his fingers flying to fumble at the button of Harry’s jeans. He wanted to see him, touch him, taste him, heavy on his tongue… but Harry’s hands swatted the fingers away. Instead, he rutted down into Niall’s hand, hard, his forehead still pressed to the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

So Niall stroked Harry off through his jeans, marveling at the masterpiece in front of him. The tumbling, silky curls falling over his face, the trembling pink of his lips, and the needy moans slipping out, getting louder and louder the closer he got. 

“Ni—” Harry gasped after Niall gave him a particularly urgent tug and bit at the skin of his neck. “Fuck, Ni, I’m—coming…” His hips twitched forward as his orgasm shuttered through him, pulse after pulse, leaving his body limp and heavy like dead weight. Niall came shortly afterward, growling out his release in the curtain of Harry’s hair. 

Niall was seeing a white light. Hearing angels. Feeling the whisper of God himself at his ear. He had never come so hard in his life, and maybe that was because it had been so long since he’d had actual intimate contact with anyone, but maybe it was just Harry. His Harry. Beautiful, writhing, panting in his arms. He never wanted to look at anything else. 

“That was incredible, Haz…” Niall managed, his eyes still closed, trying to steady himself. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He waited for a reply, but when he didn’t get one, he opened his eyes and saw Harry’s face inches from his. Damp with tears, his hand rubbing roughly against skin of his cheeks, trying to erase the evidence. 

“Haz?” Niall jolted into action, pulling Harry’s hands away from his face and making him meet his gaze. “Babe, what’s wrong? Was it something I did?” Panic swelled in his heart. He’d been selfish. Harry hadn’t been ready, and Niall had forced his hand. “I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

But Harry shook his head, vigorously enough that his hair shook, too, falling over his face. He swiped it back again and sniffed loudly. “No, it’s not that. Don’t…” He bit his lip, eyes welling up with tears again. “It just felt so good,”

 

Niall didn’t understand. Harry just kept mumbling that it felt so good, so good, to be touched. It was like he wasn’t quite himself; hadn’t quite fallen down from the high. And Niall would think that his tears were just signs of relief, elation even, if not for the broken sobs that kept shaking through his chest every twenty seconds or so. 

“Please talk to me,” Niall begged, sitting beside Harry at the kitchen table twenty minutes later, still trying to get a coherent sentence out of him. He’d made him a mug of hot chocolate, wrapped him up in a warm blanket, and rubbed his back in lazy circles, watching his face worriedly. He didn’t know if anything he was doing was helping at all, but that’s what his mom had done for him as a kid whenever he was feeling down. 

Finally, Harry quieted, staring down into his hot chocolate mug and licking his lips lightly. “Sorry,” He muttered, glancing up at Niall, a shy, sad smile on his face.

Niall leaned forward and wrapped Harry in a tight hug, happy more than anything that he seemed back to normal. “No, I’m sorry. I was selfish, and I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

Harry let out a strange little breath; hitched up, sharp. “I… I haven’t been completely honest with you,” He said quietly, his tone suddenly dark. 

Niall leaned back into his seat and bit his lip, waiting. He had an idea of what Harry was about to say, but he still felt his heart skip a beat in his chest anyway. “Okay,” He prompted, urging Harry along.

There was a short pause; Harry chewing at the edge of his fingernail, sucking in a deep breath, making nervous glances at Niall as if he still wasn’t sure he wanted to tell him. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and when he started speaking, he wouldn’t meet Niall’s eyes anymore. “I love sex. I love everything about it.”

Niall felt a weight lift off of his chest like a balloon cut free into the wind. He resisted the urge not to smile as he replied, “That’s totally normal, Haz. Completely natural. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you want.”

But Harry shook his head. He was biting his lip so hard that he would start to draw blood soon. “I can barely think of anything else. I want it all the time, and I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes.” He closed his eyes and gasped then, and when Niall’s eyes dropped down from Harry’s face, he saw that he was gripping himself under the table, squeezing his fingers tight around his fattening dick. Niall made a sound at the back of his throat, and his mouth became dry and rough like sandpaper. 

“We can go…as fast…or slow as you want.” Niall managed, reluctantly pulling his gaze upwards. “You have me. I love you. We’ll make this work.”

Harry’s knee bounced under the table, and he dug the heel of his hand against his forehead, looking more stressed out than Niall had ever seen him. “I don’t want to run you away… don’t wanna hurt you…” He talked quickly, his voice verging on panicked. “I like…um…I like…”

Niall, seeing Harry on the verge of falling apart, reached out to run his fingers through his hair, hushing him with the gentleness of his touch. “I will never judge you.” He said. And that was a promise. 

That seemed to be what Harry had wanted to hear, because with those words, he looked up at Niall and actually smiled. Uneasy, still a bit nervous, but a smile. “I love you,”

Niall beamed. He’d never felt more strongly for anyone in his life. Never wanted to protect someone so badly as he did Harry. “I love you, too.” He said, meaning every word. His eyes drifted back to where Harry was still half-way palming himself through his jeans then, and he took a deep breath before asking, “If you want, we can finish where we left off? Go up to the bedroom… do this proper?”

It took ages for Harry to answer. He kept squeezing his eyes shut, staring down at his lap like he was trying to keep all his emotions from spilling out onto the floor at once. Niall knew there was more to what Harry had told him. Likely a lot more. But it would all come out in due time, he supposed. Baby steps. 

Finally, Harry nodded. Just a quick shift of his head, but Niall caught it. “Yeah,” He said. “Okay, let’s go.”


	2. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a sex addict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear - I'm no expert on sex addiction. It's a very vague thing in general, I think. But for individuals who are actually dealing with a sex addiction, this may not be an accurate account of what they experience. Okay. Thought I'd say that.

HARRY:

 

\---- Earlier That Day ----

 

“You could at least try to make yourself look presentable for this lunch date.” Liam said as Harry sat down, a bit breathless and damp from his run. He plucked a napkin from the holder on the table and dabbed at his forehead with it, grinning at Liam cheekily. 

“It’s not my fault you spend your entire day in the office and can’t handle a bit of sweat anymore.” Harry replied, already pulling the laminated menu close to take a look. His mouth watered just looking at the mention of cheeseburgers and vanilla shakes. “I liked it better when we met up at the Mexican place down the street. At least they didn’t tempt me with a menu full of fried garbage.” He ordered the fried garbage anyway when the waitress asked.

“So,” Liam said once Harry was properly settled in and already sipping on his second glass of water.

“So what?” Harry glanced over at him, quirking his eyebrow. He knew it annoyed him, when he had to say it aloud.

“So, how’s your… progress?” Liam gritted, glancing quickly over his shoulder as he said it, as if the other people in the small restaurant knew what the hell he was referring to. If anything were going to make them suspicious, it would be the way Liam was constantly drumming his fingers and tapping his expensive dress shoes under the table. He looked far too uptight for the relaxed, diner setting, and the entire scene was more than a little amusing to Harry, despite his own agitation. 

“Ah, yes,” Harry muttered, reaching up to muss his hair before remembering that it was tied back from his run. He settled on playing with a straw wrapper on the table, staring out the window as he spoke to avoid Liam’s gaze. “It’s getting worse—the time. This morning it took me almost an hour, and it felt… forced.” 

Harry bit his lip, thinking about how he was still sore from the strain, his dick red and abused from the excessive friction of skin on skin. He closed his eyes, thinking about how he hadn’t gotten a proper release in a almost a week. 

“Well it’s gonna feel forced, mate.” Liam said, frowning with concern. He was in Dr. Payne mode, now. Top Child Psychologist in the state; owner of a booming practice downtown and author of the bestselling book, Seen, not Heard. Yet there he was, offering under-the-table advice to his grown adult best friend concerning embarrassingly intimate details about his day-to-day sexual habits. “Maybe you need to try stimulation again?” He urged quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes then, slumping back into the booth and continuing to slurp on the glass of water. “Well that would just solve all my problems, wouldn’t it? Hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Excuse you. Attitude.” Liam frowned. 

Harry grimaced and leaned forward, so their noses were practically touching over the tabletop. He had to give Liam credit for not backing away. “Every time I do that, I end up making mistakes. Bad ones. I can’t do that again.”

Liam pressed his lips together and his brown eyes darted over Harry’s face, thinking. “You can’t keep going the way you are, Harry. I think you know that.” 

He did. He did know that. But he didn’t have any other plans yet.

“Moderation is key. If you let Niall know you have a problem—”

“No.” Harry cut him off before he had a chance to start. He retreated back into his seat again and bounced his leg under the table, suddenly wondering where the hell their food was. “Look, I won’t do that to him. Mix him up in all my twisted issues.”

Harry felt the ghost of hands creeping up his thighs, grasping the back of his neck, tugging at his hair…. He took a deep breath and exhaled, blowing the memory away before it went any further. The sensation still lingered, though. As it always did. The promise of a high. Of losing himself. Harry could cry with how badly he missed it. 

He reached into his jacket pocket then and took out his medication. Shook a couple pills out into his palm before tossing them down his throat and returning the bottle back where he’d had it. Liam saw the whole thing, and Harry was already bracing himself for the lecture to come.

“Feeling anxious, are we?” He said, but with an edge of accusation. “Harry you can’t just take those pills whenever you’re feeling a bit of nerves. There are side effects of overdosing. Dangerous ones, as with all medicine if you take it in excess.”

“The bottle says 300mg a day. That’s what I’ve taken.”

“It’s one in the afternoon. What’s your plan for the rest of the evening?”

“Curl up with a tub of ice cream and a Friend’s marathon, you?”

Liam glared and opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, hot plates of food were being set in front of them, and that pretty much ended the discussion for a while. Harry was happy for that.

“How are you and Sophia? Did you come to a decision?” He asked once he’d swallowed down his last bite. He’d been far hungrier than he realized, and his plate was clean before Liam had even eaten half of his. 

At Harry’s question, Liam’s eyes darkened just the slightest, and Harry saw his jaw flex under the scruff of his beard. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. And he meant it. 

Liam shrugged then, shoulders coming up to his ears and falling down again with a huff. “She wants to move halfway across the country to live closer to her parents. And I get that I guess; they’re getting up in age… it’s just—I have a practice to run. A practice I’ve been building for years that’s just now taking off. And she wants me to drop it, like it’s nothing.”

Harry nodded empathetically. He was good at that. But even though his face said ‘concerned friend’, his mind was thinking about how badly he had to pee. 

Liam continued to rant, and Harry let him. But pretty soon his legs were wiggling under the table, and he felt the familiar pressure of his bladder beneath the waistband of his pants. Discreetly, keeping his eyes on Liam, he slipped a hand between his legs to grip himself, providing temporary relief.

“You and Niall are still going to Louis’ thing, right?”

“What?” Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts and blinked, still staring at Liam.

“Nice listening, Styles.” Liam muttered, already pulling his card out of his wallet clip to pay the bill. “The Gala that Louis’ hosting. Are you and Niall going?”

Harry hadn’t heard a thing about any Gala as far as he could remember. But then again he wasn’t always the most reliable with things like that. He told Liam ‘yes’ anyway though, because he didn’t care to go further into it. 

“Zayn’s apparently coming to this one.” Liam said, eyeing Harry. Apparently that was supposed to mean something to him. 

“Ah. Neat.” He was incredibly unconvincing when he was resisting the urge to wiggle his butt down into the booth. His bladder was pulsing every few seconds, refusing to be ignored. 

“Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?” Liam asked, eyeing where Harry’s hand had suspiciously disappeared under the table. 

Another pulse throbbed through him then, so powerful it almost had him whimpering. But he shook his head. “Nope.”

“You are an odd one, H.” Liam sighed. The waitress came back with Liam’s card and a receipt—when did she even take it?—and Liam thanked her before stuffing it back in his clip. “You’re welcome for lunch, by the way.”

“I’ve got you next time. Promise.” Harry grinned at him. And that seemed to be enough to appease Liam, because he smiled back and waved goodbye as he stood. 

“Alright then, see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself.” He added, always the stern parent. Harry found it to be one of his more attractive qualities, actually.

When Liam was gone, the waitress approached the table once more, awkwardly asking if there was anything else Harry needed. She looked to be about twenty, and her eyes were a deep, rolling honey-color above full, nervous lips. Harry had noticed her lips earlier, but they were more prominent now that she was biting them, running her tongue over the top one from time to time. She was beautiful, and if her trembling hands were anything to go by, she thought he was, too. 

Old Harry would have done something about that. A lot of things, actually. But Old Harry would never see the light of day if new, sexually-repressed-bastard Harry had anything to say about it. So he just gave her his best smile and said, “Yes, actually. I’ll have another glass of water, please. I’m parched.”

 

The run back home was a frantic one. The extra glass of water he’d drank made sure of that. Every few blocks he had to stop and jog in place, doing everything he could to keep from squeezing his knees together in public. But god, he had to go so bad. When he was finally standing on his front porch, fumbling with his keys, he thought he might actually wet himself. Right there, for all the neighbors to see. And he hated the soft moan it elicited from him. 

“Haz?” Niall called when Harry came through the door. But he didn’t have time for conversation. He could already feel hot droplets rolling down his thighs from where he was leaking a little with every passing second. 

His breathing was coming fast, and he had a thin sheen of sweat over his entire body by the time he’d run into the first floor bathroom and locked the door. He almost lost control in the few seconds it took to turn on the air vent and mask the sound of his relief. “Ohhh…” Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip against the moans as he finally started to empty his bladder into the toilet. His free hand was pressed flat on the wall in front of him, and with every new surge, his fingers tensed a little more at the delicious waves of pleasure sweeping over him. 

“Babe? Is everything okay?” Niall knocked on the door, the familiar hitch of concern in his words. But Harry’s stream had already trickled down to almost nothing, and within the next thirty seconds, he was walking out of the bathroom, hands washed, feeling ten times lighter. He grinned at his boyfriend when he saw him, hopefully easing his nerves.

“Had to go pretty bad, huh?” Niall asked, the worry slowly falling away from his handsome face. He fixed those bright baby blues directly on Harry, and Harry felt his heart skitter a bit before returning back to normal. Niall’s eyes would be the death of him one day.

“I’d say so, yeah,” Harry smiled.

“I missed you today.” Niall leaned in to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist, pressing his face into the sweat-damp t-shirt fabric against his chest. The embrace was tight and unexpected, sending chills down Harry’s spine and derailing his thoughts in a matter of seconds. 

“I missed you, too.” Harry replied. But then, “I think I’m gonna go take a shower, babe. I feel a little gross.”

It broke his heart to see the look on Niall’s face when he said that. Because they both knew what he really meant was, “stop touching me now”. 

And that was bullshit. Because Harry wanted Niall’s touch so badly it made his knees weak sometimes, but that’s exactly why it couldn’t happen. Harry didn’t just ‘want’ things. He desired them so fiercely that when he finally got them, they consumed him entirely.

“Okay, well…I’ll just,” Niall motioned to the kitchen with his thumb and started walking away. “I’ll be in there when you’re done.”

 

Steam. Harry loved it because it made you feel clean. When he was younger, he thought it just lifted the dirt right off of you and carried it away in the tumbling white of the water vapor. He tended to take a lot of showers when he was a kid. But as an adult, he knew that wasn’t really how things worked.

The squeak of the shower knob pulled him out of his thoughts just long enough for him to get the water temperature right and peel off his sweaty clothes. When he’d stepped inside, he tugged his hair free and slipped the tie over his wrist again, where he always kept it. Damp tangles stuck to the sides of his face, his neck, and just about everywhere else it could reach until he finally dipped his head under the water stream and cleaned it. 

Niall should’ve been in there with him. Harry smiled at the thought of the two of them together, Niall reaching up to massage shampoo into Harry’s scalp until it slopped onto his nose. Harry squirting cold shower gel into the middle of Niall’s belly until he yelped in shock. That’s what couples did. Shared little moments like that. Moments that were special for the simple fact that they allowed you to see a part of the other person that no one else got to witness. Little snapshots of who they actually are under all the day-to-day facades. Harry couldn’t give that to Niall. Hadn’t given it to him for the entire time they’d been dating. 

Panic settled over him. Sharp and all-consuming; breathing down his neck so vividly that he turned around to make sure no one was there. Get it together, get it together, get it together. But before he could stop himself, his hand was already straying down, gripping the base of his length and stroking up despite the stinging of sensitivity from that morning. He spit in his free hand and used it as a lubricant, feeling the burn lessen a bit as he thickened against his palm. 

If he could just get off one good time—

He tugged up, and let his thumb swipe over the leaking slit of his dick. He was fully hard, but his strokes felt muffled against the skin. Numb. 

He knew what his body wanted. Knew what he wanted more than anything. “Fuck,” He gritted, finally giving up on the strokes. He wanted release. Needed it. So he sucked on his index finger and bent slightly against the slick tiles of the shower wall, breaths coming in shallow pants with the anticipation of something he hadn’t done in a month and a half. 

He pressed his finger against the puckered mouth of his hole, not penetrating, just adding pressure. He sighed so heavily that he leaned his forehead against the tiles, closing his eyes. A little teasing, and he was making shallow thrusts, so small and quick they barely reached his first knuckle. But his body responded; frantic, desperate, needy. It wasn’t long before he was adding a second finger. 

“God…” He panted, in disbelief at how good it felt. 

A little deeper then. Two knuckles, and Harry was already far gone. The moment one of his fingers curled into his prostate, he choked out a broken moan and felt his knees shake, threatening to give out as he came, pulse after pulse landing on the shower tiles and sliding down to be washed away down the drain. It was almost anticlimactic, in how quick it was, and Harry was lightheaded with the force of it and the heat still seeping into his pores. He quickly cleaned himself off and got out of the shower before he actually passed out.

 

He wanted it again. He wanted to feel hands roaming down his back, gripping at his thighs, teasing him open for something bigger than a couple fingers… 

Harry didn’t wait to get dressed before grabbing his jacket off the floor where he’d discarded it and digging his hand into the pocket for the pill bottle. Just one more. He just needed one more today, and then he’d be fine. 

He popped the cap open and shook it into his palm, but nothing came out. “You’ve got to be joking,” He muttered to himself, glancing inside the bottle to see that yes, it was indeed empty. He didn’t know how he’d missed that. But then again, he hadn’t really been counting the doses. 

The Pharmacy was open for another couple hours. He’d put on some clothes and get over there to pick up a refill. It was a plan. Everything was going to be fine. But his hands fumbled when he twisted the cap back on the pill bottle, and he ignored the way his heart was racing in his chest. 

 

Twenty minutes later, he was standing at the Pharmacy counter in Walgreen’s feeling his stomach drop to his ass as he tried to process what was being said to him. 

“What do you mean I can’t get a refill?” Harry’s keys clinked heavily on the counter as he dropped them there and fished out the empty pill bottle once again. 

“Sir—” The pharmacist started to interrupt him, a tired expression on her face. 

“Wait—look, it says I have five more refills left!” Harry insisted, pointing to the small, bolded print on the label. He glanced over his shoulder then, suddenly conscious that maybe he was making a scene.

“You do have another refill available. In two weeks.” 

Two weeks. 

Harry bit his lip and leaned in a little closer over the counter. The Pharmacist—Tori, according to her name tag—blinked in surprise as Harry’s bright green eyes locked with hers. He lowered his voice, whispering in the most sincere tone he could muster, “I can’t wait two weeks. Please.”

Tori’s lips parted, hesitating, and Harry could almost see the thoughts whirring in her head. Her fingers trembled just the slightest as she swept a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to speak with your doctor. Maybe she can up the dosage for you next time.”

Harry ignored what she said for a moment and just watched her carefully. The nervous glances from his face, back down to where she was pretending to read her computer screen. The shallow breaths and rigid tension of her body beneath her lab coat. He could fuck her. If he offered, she would say yes. And maybe she’d say yes to something else as well. He palmed the empty pill bottle, turning it in his hand a few times before grabbing his keys and offering a simple “Thanks, I understand.” in reply.

Control. It was all about control. But Harry’s was wearing thin. 

“Excuse me,” Harry asked one of the attendants as he was walking away from the pharmacy. A little old lady restocking the Gas-X shelf and humming along to a song playing quietly through the store speakers. When she turned around, Harry offered one of his big, cheeky smiles in spite of the panicked frenzy he felt inside. “Hi, do you know where I might find a box of chocolates and a disgustingly sappy card to go with it?”

 

“Liam, answer goddammit,” Harry cursed, pressing on the breaks a little too hard when he stopped in the driveway, causing the bag of store goods to fly off the passenger seat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” His brain felt like a tornado was passing through it. Thoughts flying this way and the other. And his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. He tried to call Liam on his way home from the Pharmacy, but got his voicemail. He was thinking maybe there was a way Liam could write up a script, help his friend out one more time. The friend who may or may have developed a dependency for his anxiety medication.

A few moments later, Harry was standing on the front porch, grocery bag in hand, turning the key in the lock and walking through the door. “Babe, I’m home,” He called, placing his keys in the bowl. When he didn’t get an answer, he called again, feeling exhausted and wanting so badly just to curl up next to Niall and forget the rest of the world. “Babe?”

When he still didn’t get an answer, he started to worry. He walked down the hall, sweeping his hair back from his face and looking in each room. “Ni, you there?” And then he heard it. The slightly-labored breathing, the slick-slack of wet flesh moving together. 

Harry walked into the living room and felt his throat nearly close up at what he was seeing. Niall sitting out in the open, cheeks red with exertion, eyes closed as he stroked himself off. “What are you doing?” Harry struggled to say the words. A sharp electric sting ran through his body, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself. 

Niall moaned soft and unabashedly as his thumb swiped over the leaking head of his dick. Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting it on his tongue; fat and needy. Niall looked up at him then, and Harry could only imagine what his face looked like.

“Ughhh uhhh,” Niall groaned low, eyes tensing closed as his hips bucked up off of the couch cushions. 

Fuck, this wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening.

Harry dropped the grocery bag down in a chair and moved closer to Niall, almost afraid at how easy it would be to fuck him right there. Bite into his neck, bury himself hot and tight and deep. “Niall, stop,” He said, albeit weakly. Stop, or I won’t be able to stop myself this time.

But Niall didn’t hear it. He stretched out his legs, tensed his stomach muscles, and groaned loudly as he sped up the pace of his hand. “Fuck, Harry…” He panted. “Harry… Harry… Harry…” Harry felt his knees buckle, felt himself sink to the couch beside his boyfriend, watching the beautiful creature next to him writhe and whimper until… fuck, there it was. Harry’s dick twitched wildly in his pants, and it the twisting in his belly was almost painful as he watched Niall come in long spurts onto his belly. Harry wanted to lick it up. Every last drop. He didn’t even realize he was gripping himself through his pants until Niall turned to glance down at his hand.

“I can take care of that for you…if you want.” He murmured, voice low and groggy with the rush of orgasm. “I promise I’ll go slow.”

And Harry—Harry who had been strong for so, so many months—felt himself give in right then. That one act alone made him feel so free he could cry. 

 

“Like that, babe?”

Harry could barely remember how to speak. The feel of Niall’s hand, warm and slow, stroking him through his jeans, was driving him insane. He moaned and swatted Niall’s wandering fingers away before rutting down hard into his hand. He would just get off this once—just this once. No direct contact. Still maintaining control. But fuck if he wasn’t going to make it feel good.

He leaned his forehead into the crook of Niall’s shoulder, grinding shamelessly down against him. His hair fell into his face, and he heard himself whimper loudly against the skin of Niall’s shoulder. “Ni—” He cried out, feeling the cut of Niall’s teeth against his neck. The shock of the pain sent him tumbling over the edge. Tightening his whole body like a spring, and then…. “Fuck, Ni, I’m—coming…” His hips stuttered forward, and he came fantastically, clinging tight to Niall’s body, gasping as he rode the seemingly endless waves. 

 

“It felt so good,” He cried over and over again after it was over. Actually fucking cried. But to be touched like that after so many months… it felt like drinking that first glass of water after a hard, summer run.

Liam was right—Harry hated to admit it—but he was right, and it was time he told Niall the truth so they could move forward. 

“I love sex,” He said quietly. “I love everything about it.”

“That’s totally normal, Haz. Completely natural. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you want.”

But nothing about sex was normal to Harry. Never would be. He tried to explain some of this to Niall.

“I can barely think of anything else,” He admitted. “I want it all the time, and I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes.” He thought about earlier, in the shower, when he’d curled his fingers just right… He gripped himself hard through his jeans, trying in vain to subdue the fattening of his dick at the thought. He wondered how Niall’s fingers would feel inside him…

“We can go…as fast…or slow as you want.” Niall said, the model boyfriend as usual. “You have me. I love you. We’ll make this work.”

Harry bounced his knee under the table and dug the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t want to run you away… I don’t wanna hurt you…” He said quickly, hoping Niall would hear him out. The last thing he wanted to do was go into detail, but Niall deserved to know what he was getting himself into. “I like…um…I like…” 

But Niall stopped him there. Told him he wouldn’t judge. That he loved him. It was more than Harry could have asked for, and he was almost excited about the whole idea. Maybe this could work, after all?

“If you want,” Niall spoke slowly, looking warily at Harry as he did. “We can finish where we left off? Go up to the bedroom… do this proper?”

If he said yes, Harry knew there would be no more going back. No more distance. No more secrets. They’d be baring all to each other, and as optimistic as Niall seemed, Harry wasn’t so sure Niall would like this new side of him. He could only hope.

Finally, Harry nodded. Just a quick shift of his head. “Yeah,” He said. “Okay, let’s go.”

 

Even though they’d known each other for years and literally just dry-humped each other less than an hour ago, it still felt like some sort of awkward high school hook up when they found themselves in the bedroom, staring at each other face to face, almost as if to say, “you first”, “no you first”. 

Niall actually started laughing after a moment, his cheeks pinking up with his breathless giggles. “I’m sorry! I’m just so nervous, it’s weird.” He gasped. 

Harry found himself letting out a few chuckles too. And then finally, watching Niall practically fall backwards onto the bed in a fit, he let the laughter rumble up from his belly too and settle between them, breaking the ice.

“I mean, how are we even doing this?” Niall asked suddenly, a little more serious. “Do you…? Or would you rather I…?”

Harry tried his best to keep from dissolving into laughter again as he replied, “Are you asking me… if I want to top or bottom? Is that what you’re asking me, Ni?”

Niall grimaced playfully from his spot on the bed and kicked his foot out at Harry’s leg. “Well it’s something we ought to figure out now, shouldn’t we?” 

Harry hummed, nodding thoughtfully as he sunk to his knees at the foot of the bed and yanked Niall forward by his slender calves. “I don’t think it really matters much, babe. Whatever feels right.”

Niall had gone silent, bare chest rising and falling in short pants. He watched on with wide eyes as Harry undid the fly of his jeans and tugged them down his waist little by little until he could toss them aside completely. Harry’s heart thundered in his chest. He’d seen Niall naked before, but never like this.

“Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” He moaned, biting his lip and adjusting himself in his jeans again before leaning forward. Niall was heavy and thick when Harry took him into his mouth. Just tasting at first, letting his tongue lick around the base and the head a bit before anything else. 

“Jesus fucking—” Niall hissed, already arching off the bed. 

“Niall if you come in my mouth right now, I swear to god we will fight,” Harry mumbled. “I wanna take all of you, let me finish.”

Niall tasted so good. So, so good. Harry had to remind himself to take it slow. “God, babe,” He breathed against him, licking a delicate strip up the underside of Niall’s dick and coaxing a low moan out of his mouth. Harry dipped his tongue into the slit at the head and kissed away the precum dribbling there, moaning enthusiastically every time he got a drop. 

“Harry… fuck…. I can’t….” Niall was gripping the sheets, gently writhing on top of the covers and tensing so hard Harry was afraid he might pull something.

“Do I feel good to you, baby?” Harry whispered, sucking and licking up the length. He popped the tip in his mouth, swirled his tongue around, and let it fall away again. Niall made a choking sound, grunted low. “Want to fuck my mouth, baby?” Harry moaned, losing himself in the bob of Niall’s dick as he slapped it lightly against his lips, let go, and did it over again. He started rutting his own hips against the side of the bed in the meantime, closing his eyes at how amazing it all felt.

“Yes! Fuck Harry, just do it!” Niall shouted, a layer of sweat glistening on his body as he tried to hold on. 

And so Harry took Niall down his throat. Swift and clean. Loving the heaviness of him on his tongue.

Niall shouted obscenities in a language Harry didn’t even recognize, and came forcefully down his throat, hips thrusting harshly up against Harry’s face as he fucked through the spasms. 

Harry coughed, but managed to swallow most of it. A bit of excess dribbled down his lips, and he swept out his tongue to catch that, too. He’d lick Niall clean if he wasn’t so afraid of going overboard. He could suck Niall off for days.

“What in the—FUCK.” Niall groaned, moving his forearm up over his face to cover his eyes. His soft, satisfied dick lying on his belly. Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sight. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asked softly. Deceitfully almost. 

“Where the hell did you learn to do all that?” Niall shuttered and groaned again, still cursing under his breath. Harry stilled, panicked that Niall had actually wanted an answer to that, but in seconds, all he heard were the soft snores and sleepy mumbles of his very happy, very exhausted boyfriend. 

Harry smiled, flipped the covers over Niall’s bare body, and kissed his forehead goodnight. “Love you…” He whispered.

Harry himself was still wide awake, though. Awake, wired, and horny. Nothing new. He sighed and retrieved his cellphone from his back pocket, already dialing Liam’s number. If the aching hard-on his pants reminded him of anything, it was that he needed to get his medication refilled, asap, before he did something he’d regret.


	3. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to sleep, but he can't. So he drives to Liam's house, only to find that Liam might need him more than he needs Liam.

\---- Harry: ----

Their house was never really completely silent. Harry realized this, lying in bed next to Niall in the early morning hours when only restless souls were still wide awake. He ticked off the noises in his mind, unable to ignore them long enough to find sleep. The loud whirring of the ceiling fan above his head; the creak of the foundation like old bones as the house groaned and settled again and again; the coo of an owl outside his window; the ticking of his wristwatch, lying unfastened on his bedside table, waiting to be worn again; and finally there was the soft, purring sound of Niall’s snores. Steady, unchanging. A constant to which all the other sounds centered themselves. A humming melody that on another night might have even been soothing. 

Harry loved watching Niall sleep. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times he committed his features to memory—he still couldn’t get over how beautiful he was. A strong jaw and long lashes beneath a fringe of bright blonde hair. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest as he stared. He really did love him. 

And he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to fuck things up between them.

He’d spent so much time and effort trying to maintain control and deal with his issues on his own. And it had worked—kind of. But Niall wanted more—deserved more—and that night Harry had finally given in. He could still taste him, could still remember the way his boyfriend had fucked into his mouth so desperately. Harry closed his eyes and squirmed against the sheets, feeling a warmth in his belly at the thought. He could fuck Niall for days. 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He could fuck him for days. Chasing that high to the end of the earth, going until their skin was red and so sensitive it hurt to touch. Going until it was just fucking and nothing else. Harry could lose himself in the desire. He’d done it before and he’d do it again.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, feeling his heart racing in his chest. Sleep was out of the question, especially with Niall so close by, deliciously naked under the covers, his snores starting to sound more and more like moans to Harry the more he imagined how it would feel to fuck him. He dressed quickly and in the dark. He grabbed his keys and left out the door then so he could have some space to clear his mind. 

***

Liam had been one of Harry’s closest friends for years. They met through Niall, but they’d sparked an unexpected friendship so quickly that in Harry’s memory it was hard to imagine a time when he he didn’t know Liam. 

Harry sat on the edge of his seat, driving carefully up the twisting hill to where Liam’s house was perched just off the side of the main road; majestic and eerily dark through the curtain of trees and greenery surrounding it. It was one of those addresses you’d never find on your own if you didn’t know where to look, which was exactly the way Liam liked it.

“You can’t beat privacy like this, mate,” He’d always say.

Harry killed the engine and the lights at the end of the long driveway, parking just a few yards down from where Liam and Sophia’s cars were. The moon was nearly completely covered up by clouds, and it was so dark that it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead at any time. So when the outdoor garage lights flicked on out of nowhere, Harry felt like he was being blinded by the sun.

“Soph! Stop, let’s—we can talk about this!” 

Harry heard Liam’s voice before he actually saw him. And before he saw Liam, he saw Sophia, walking out of the garage, dragging luggage behind her that was so big she could probably fit inside it herself. 

“We have talked about it.” Sophia’s voice cut through the night air, directed straight at Liam, who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Wrinkled pajama bottoms, white tank, hair wild on top of his head. His eyes were big and scared, like a small child. “I wish I talking could help. But we’ve both made up our minds.”

Sophia turned then, moving forward again until she got to her car and unlocked it to heave her luggage into the trunk. Liam followed behind her, resembling a large, lost puppy. 

“So is this it then?” His voice was quiet, but in the dead silence of the night, it came through loud and clear. “Are you leaving for good?”

Sophia paused, just long enough to sigh and run her fingers through her hair. She turned to look at Liam with sad eyes, her entire frame seeming to shiver just the slightest as she took her next breath. “I don’t know yet. But I need some time to think.” She fussed with something on her left hand then, fumbling it into her right and then placing it on Liam’s open palm. He stared down lamely at it before glancing up at her again, his eyes wet and glittering. It was her engagement ring.

“Soph… please don’t do this.”

But she was already getting in the car. She started it up, flicked on the lights, and reeled back, her tires protesting a bit at the swiftness of it all. Briefly, Harry saw her recognize his car in the driveway, and even shoot him a curious glance as she pulled the rest of the way out, but she didn’t stop, and she didn’t wave. She was gone so quickly that in a way it felt like she’d never even been there to begin with. And there was Liam, standing in the aftermath of it, a lonely shadow against the dim outdoor lights shining around him. He was staring straight at Harry, though, and clearly Sophia wasn’t the only one who’d caught sight of him parked there. 

 

\---- Liam: ----

“Harry?”

Liam was dazed. His head felt like it was full of soggy cotton balls, and he wanted so badly just to close his eyes and have it all be a dream… but he blinked a couple times and squinted into the darkness until he made out the slim figure stepping out of a black car a short ways down the drive. He’d seen the vehicle illuminated in the red glow of Sophia’s headlights, and he knew without thinking that it was Harry’s car. But why it was in his driveway at damn near three in the morning, he had no idea. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” A deep, syrupy voice replied. Liam watched as his friend walked towards him with carefully placed footsteps, like he was tiptoeing over an iced-over lake instead of hard concrete. He looked so wary of him at first that Liam was actually surprised when Harry wrapped him up in a tight hug. Liam made a face when strands of long brown hair got stuck in his mouth and Harry’s arms nearly squeezed the life out of him. “I’m so sorry, Li.” He muttered. “So sorry,”

 

***

 

“Cider or tea?”

They were in Liam’s kitchen; Harry sitting at the bar, and Liam shuffling around in the cabinets, looking for something warm and sweet to warm his throat. Something to lessen the edge of what had just happened. 

“You don’t have to make anything, really. Let me—” Harry tried. But Liam cut him off, a bit sharply.

“Cider or Tea, Harry, which one?”

“Cider’s fine.” Harry mumbled. Liam looked over his shoulder at him then, caught his gaze in the short space between them. Harry’s eyes were wide and a bit sad, staring at him in that way of his, like he could see right through him. It kept people honest around him, that was for sure. 

“Sorry, I just… This was a bit unexpected.” Liam apologized, heating up the water and getting a couple mugs out from the cabinet nearest the fridge. The first one he picked out belonged to Sophia; a red one with a chip on the handle that had been there since she’d bought it. She said she chose it because it looked like it had history. She always loved things like that. 

He put her mug back and retrieved two new ones before he could think any more about it. 

“Oh… no, I get it. I don’t really know what I was thinking, coming here this time of night anyway.” Harry said, already shuffling in his seat like he was getting ready to stand up to go.

Liam let out a short little laugh as he finished fixing the ciders and placed one in front of Harry. “Quiet, Curly. I meant Sophia, not you.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, but this time a small smile flickered across his face, dimpling his cheek for just a moment before it fell away again, and he was still giving him that look. 

“We had a fight,” Liam said, hating the way his voice sounded so defensive already. “Couples fight. We’ll be fine.”

Harry didn’t reply, but took a sip of his cider then, cursing quietly when some of it spilled on the white sleeve of his shirt.

“She just needs some time away,” Liam continued talking, even though it was more to himself than to Harry.”When she thinks about it on her own, she’ll see my point. I know she will.”

Harry raised his eyebrows a touch, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

Liam sighed. “You never do listen to me, do you? Remember, I told you she wanted to move across the country to be closer to her family? She won’t let it go, Harry, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t leave here, not when my career is just now taking off. I’ve worked so hard for this… years… how can she ask me to throw all of that away?” He’d been frowning, staring ahead into the distance as he rambled on. It was only when he’d snapped out of it that he realized Harry had gotten up and was rummaging around in the spice cabinet. 

“Trying to have an emotional conversation here, Haz. It would be nice if it weren’t with myself.”

But Harry just waved him away. “I’m listening, I’m listening. I thought I’d be quiet and not interrupt. Isn’t that the polite thing to do?” 

Liam just sighed, momentarily staring down into his mug of cider that was already cooling, untouched. He glanced up at Harry then, silently watching him as he shuffled about. There had never been any beginning to their friendship, really, now that he thought about it. From the first time they met, they had this level of comfort between them like they’d known each other for years. There wasn’t any need for small talk. No fear of hurt feelings, no effort to hold your tongue. It was refreshing; Liam had never had a relationship like that with anyone before. Not even Sophia. But he had a feeling that Harry made a lot of people feel that way. There was something about him—he just fit into people’s lives so effortlessly, like he’d belonged there the whole time. 

“What are you looking for anyway?” Liam finally asked, his voice softer than before. Harry was stretching his arms up, moving containers around on the top shelf of the spice cabinet, the slender curve of his body becoming more visible beneath his white, long-sleeved shirt. When he heard Liam’s voice, he turned slightly, his hair shifting a little further down his back with the motion of his head. 

“Cinnamon, Liam. We’re drinking cider and you can hardly even taste the cinnamon.” 

 

***

 

Liam knew better than to ask Harry outright why he’d shown up to his house in the middle of the night. He had a couple guesses, but drawing out information from Harry was a slow, careful process that could backfire quickly without the right amount of patience. Lucky for Liam, he was nothing if not patient. 

“I saw this movie the other night on Netflix, and it’s about this lady with multiple personalities—” Harry said excitedly, flicking through the movie choices so fast that Liam could barely read the titles as they passed. The two of them were sitting on the couch in the living room, blinds drawn, blankets and pillows around them like a comfort fort. Harry had made a couple of sandwiches for them to eat, too, and Liam was nearly finished with his. 

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Liam nodded.

“Yeah, showoff, I know what it’s called. Jesus,” Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, but it was lighthearted. “Anyway, it was pretty interesting. Want to watch it?” He looked over at Liam with hopeful eyes, his leg bouncing as he awaited an answer. 

No, Liam did not want to watch the movie. It was half past four in the morning, and they’d watched three episodes of the Bates Motel already. Liam could feel his eyes drooping heavily with exhaustion, and he was practically half asleep at that point anyway. But he knew that whenever Harry was desperate for company like this, something was wrong. And if Liam decided to blow him off and leave him alone right then, there was a good chance Harry would wind up doing something stupid and self-destructive. So he nodded, trying his best to hold back a yawn. “Yeah Haz, sounds good.”

The movie started off slow. Like really, really slow. And pretty soon Liam’s head was a sleepy mush of fleeting images, Sophia’s voice, snippets of fights they’d had, and jumbled up thoughts about patient files and prescriptions he’d looked over the day before. He startled himself awake at one point muttering nonsense about Bupropion and Depersonalization, and that was when he realized he’d never make it through the rest of the night if he didn’t find a way to stay awake. 

He was considering downing a shot of 5 hour energy at that point, but then he looked over at Harry, and he suddenly felt very wide awake. 

“Jesus, mate, you could give me a little warning first,” Liam quickly averted his eyes from where Harry’s hands were moving in long slow strokes under the blanket, tugging himself off while he continued to watch the movie. His jeans and underwear were lying in a pile on the floor, so he was bare-assing it, thighs hot against the soft leather of the couch. He turned his head at the sound of Liam’s voice, a little flushed in his cheeks, but not from embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I thought you’d fallen asleep,” He apologized. “I can just go to the bathroom and—”

Liam winced. Somehow the thought of sitting on the couch waiting for Harry to come back from his jerk off session was worse than actually witnessing it for himself. “No, it’s…fine, I guess. Just don’t start making weird sounds.”

Harry let out a soft laugh at that, and then went back to quietly stroking himself under the covers. 

Liam didn’t look. He made a point of staring straight at the screen and nothing else, even though he wasn’t paying any attention to the movie anymore. 

It wasn’t a big deal, really. He knew that. When he was in college, his roommate used to pull out his junk whenever the mood struck. Liam did too, sometimes. But for some reason, sitting there with Harry, he felt heat creeping up his neck and tickling under his arms. His muscles tensed like a spring, and he was hyper-aware of the quiet little pants coming from Harry’s side of the couch. 

But he and Sophia hadn’t been intimate in nearly two weeks, and he’d been so on edge lately that just about anything turned him on. He just wished it wasn’t his best friend. 

“Come on Liam, you don’t have to make it so awkward,” Harry said, a joking lilt to his voice. With his free hand, he reached out to pull at the waistband of Liam’s pajama bottoms before letting the elastic snap back into place. “I shouldn’t get to have all the fun,” 

Liam turned to Harry then, managing a laugh. “Hey now,” He grinned and placed a protective hand over the crotch of his pants. “No touching.”

Harry seemed pleased though, a content smile on his face as he settled back into the couch and closed his eyes. His legs fell open a little wider then, and the movements under the blanket became a bit faster and more purposeful. He breathed out a long exhale through his nose at the change in sensation. 

Liam felt himself get hard under his palm then. His body suddenly buzzing with warmth and adrenaline that pulsed through his veins and swept away all remnants of sleep. The knot in his belly tightened further and further until he finally sighed, “Fine,” and pulled his semi-erect dick from the slit in his pajama bottoms, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over him as he began sliding his fist slowly up and down the length. 

 

***

 

A few minutes later and the movie was still forgotten, blankets kicked away from sweaty bodies, their breathing becoming labored with the rising tension in their muscles and the growing need for release. 

Clearly Harry had been waiting for Liam’s go ahead that it was alright, because the moment Liam’s hand wrapped around his own dick, Harry lost all modesty. His legs had fallen open so wide that his knee left was bumping Liam’s, and his shirt was riding up his belly nearly to the butterfly on his chest. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth muttering nonsense as he arched his back against the couch cushions. Add to that the quick, desperate strokes he fisted over his leaking erection, and the whole scene was wildly obscene for what was supposed to just be a late-night movie marathon between friends. 

Liam already felt himself getting close as his own movements grew more and more erratic. He tilted his head back into the couch and bit back a moan, listening to the low grunts and whimpers Harry was making beside him. He felt weird about it, but it was really hot. God, why was it so hot?

Finally, Harry let out a broken moan and froze, toes curling, as he came onto his chest, splattering white globs against tanned skin. Liam turned away then, suddenly realizing he’d been staring. He closed his eyes and focused on himself for a little while longer until he was coming as well, his breaths choking off and making him light-headed as his body curled in on itself. He felt really really great, but then so tired he feared he might slip into a coma. He didn’t even have the energy to get up and grab the blankets again, so for a minute he just let himself sit like he was; dick still in his hand, a mess of cum on his t-shirt. Harry was in worse shape though; bare, limp legs spread ridiculously in front of him, his long curls plastered to his skin with sweat, and his shirt riding up his chest to reveal the mess of semen sliding down to his belly. He was breathing hard, but he was awake, and there was a lazy grin on his face as he met Liam’s gaze. 

“You sick bastard,” Liam muttered, returning the smile. 

“Had fun did you?” Harry teased. 

“I do feel more relaxed now, I have to admit.” 

Harry’s face lit up at that, cheeks dimpling deeply, but only for a moment. Then his expression fell quickly, like gravity had caught up with him. Liam could tell there was still something on his mind. And he was concerned, but he knew Harry would speak up when he was ready. 

After a moment, they both slowly moved to clean up the mess they’d made. Liam folded the discarded blankets and put their dirty dishes away, while Harry fetched a couple of damp cloths to clean themselves off with. It was hardly ten minutes later when Liam was standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, watching Harry climb onto the mattress, newly clothed in a borrowed t-shirt and pajama bottoms combo from Liam’s closet. Harry looked cozy there, he thought. Tucked under the covers, hair loose and fanning out on the pillows beneath his head. He looked safe. 

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” Harry said, his eyes glimmering like a cat’s in the weak moonlight streaming into the room through the blinds. 

“Harry you can stay over whenever you like, for however long you like. You know that,” Liam said softly. He was really tired. Really really tired. He leaned his head on the wooden door frame as he spoke. “I might just take the day off tomorrow. Maybe we do something fun. Get our minds off things.”

“I’d like that,” Harry yawned, beginning to snore quietly seconds later. 

Liam rolled his eyes and closed the door. “Night, H. See you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be much longer, but for some reason I was having trouble with this first part, so now that I finally got it done I didn't want to keep you waiting while I finished the rest. So more coming, but here's some more material in the mean time :)


	4. Safe (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam begins to experience feelings for Harry that he can't explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole 'SAFE' chapter has become way, way longer than I expected it to be. It was originally just supposed to be in one part, but I'm splitting it up so you guys don't have to wait for me to finish the whole thing. This is part 2 of 3 of this chapter. I hope you like it! Working on the next part now :)

—— LIAM: ——

 

Liam woke up with a pounding headache. The kind of headache that accompanies a night of restless sleep. He stood from the bed, feeling a little dizzy on his own legs as he walked across the bedroom to the little balcony that overlooked a thick grove of trees in his backyard. 

The air was harsh against the bare skin of his chest, and a sudden gust of icy wind nearly knocked the breath from his lungs, but he ignored it and leaned against the railing, feeling the smooth wood under his palms. Sophia would usually join him out there, on days when they both had a little time to lounge in their pajamas and pass the minutes in each others arms. Liam used to wrap her up in the throw blanket and lock his arms around her chest from behind, keeping them both warm and content. 

The memory made his head throb harder, so he pushed it away, instead living in the present where she’d left him. Where her engagement ring was still weighing down the pocket of his pants. Sophia was the woman he would marry. It was just something he’d always known. Something they’d both understood. They’d have kids, settle down, retire, and live out the rest of their blissfully mundane lives together. It was practically written in stone; a promise. And without that promise, he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with his life. 

By the time Liam returned inside and ventured downstairs, he felt like a deflated balloon with a rip down its middle. Brooding wouldn’t solve anything; he knew that. But damn if he wasn’t allowed to feel sorry for himself, at least for a while. 

He was looking for Harry—the guest bed was empty and neatly made up again as if no one had slept there at all—wondering whether he was even still around or if he’d gone back home to Niall so they could work out their issues together. Wishful thinking was all it was though, because soon he was close enough to the kitchen to hear the mingled sounds of soft humming and the clang of pots and pans, signaling he wasn’t alone. And it certainly wasn’t Soph. 

“Morning, H.” He said, trying to sound cheerful as he walked in. The sunshine streaming through the wall of windows nearly blinded him at first, leaving him to cover his face with the back of his hand, trying in vain to make out anything besides a twinkling golden light. The sun was just beginning to rise, throwing its rays over the entire back of the house. It could be beautiful sometimes, but most days he and Sophia kept the blinds closed, keeping the comfortable dimness in the house for as long as they could. 

It wasn’t until twenty seconds later after a rapid session of blinking and eye rubbing that he actually regained the ability to see without dark little floaties blurring his vision. Harry was standing at the island in the kitchen, bare-chested, hair pushed behind his ears as he concentrated on mixing something in a large bowl. Sophia’s expensive cast iron skillet was sitting on the stovetop behind him, not yet warming anything that Liam could see. “Hey there, Lima,” Harry replied quietly, glancing up to smile at him. His face was striking in the glittering sunshine pouring into the room, and the clear green of his eyes almost glowed beneath his lashes. Sometimes it caught Liam off guard just how lovely Harry could look, without even meaning to.

“You look well-rested this morning.” Liam came up beside him, leaning his palms on the granite so he could get a better look at what Harry was doing. Harry, in response, nudged him out of the way with a playful elbow. 

“Stop, you’re in my space.” He moaned, a dimple appearing in his cheeks despite his protest. “Making pancakes.”

Liam grinned, happy to see Harry in good spirits. “Mmm, pancakes. My favorite.” And then, after a moment, “How’d you sleep?” 

Harry shrugged at that, his shoulders rolling up and relaxing visibly beneath the skin. “'Bout normal.”

Liam felt concern tighten in his stomach, and he frowned. “So not at all then.”

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes cast down as he continued to mix the batter, despite it already being the perfect consistency. “An hour. Maybe an hour and a half, I don’t know. I’ve been up since, like, 6:45.”

“Oh Harry,” Liam sighed, reaching up to rub his back gently. “Maybe I can give you something to help you sleep?”

But Harry shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Just not that tired, I guess.”

Liam stared at him for a long while then, knowing Harry knew what he was saying was bullshit as much as Liam did. But he decided to drop it, for now. “At least let me help you cook.”

“Not a chance.” Harry laughed, wriggling free from Liam’s grasp, nearly spilling the batter on the floor. 

Liam, pretending to be offended, grabbed at the carton of eggs that was sitting out on the counter. “Come on, I went to medical school; I can crack an egg or two.” Harry took the carton back again before he had the chance.

“Out,” He insisted, shooing Liam out of his own kitchen. 

“What a control freak.” Liam laughed, walking away with his hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone, you loon.”

Harry smiled faintly at that, going back to what he was doing momentarily before pausing to pull something out of his pocket. Then tossed it to Liam without much warning. 

“Found your phone on the counter earlier, buried under some mail and whatnot. Thought you might want it.”

Liam, who’d just barely caught the slim, slippery device at all, muttered an exasperated “thanks,” and checked his notifications. There were about a half dozen calls and texts from Harry the day before—probably worried when Liam didn’t respond back three seconds later like usual. Also there was a missed call from some unknown number, along with one from work, and an accompanying voicemail. It wasn’t until he felt a wave of emotion knock the wind out of his chest that he realized he’d been expecting something from Sophia. A call to say she’d been overreacting; that they could make it work and she should have never given him the ring back. 

Rage ripped through him like fire, surging in his veins, blurring his vision. He couldn’t breathe; felt like the room was spinning around him and he was losing all control. Was it really over? How could it be over? Had she really just cut him out of her life that simply, without any regrets?

“…Liam?” Harry was walking around the island, watching Liam with concern. He stopped a few feet away though, like he was unsure whether he should come any closer. “Everything alright?” He asked softly. 

“‘M fine,” Liam replied, his voice rougher than he’d meant it to come out. “I’m just going to go get some air, okay?” And he walked away before Harry could say anything else.

 

The front porch of the house was big and quiet and completely open. The chill of the concrete burned the back of his thighs through his pajama bottoms when he sat down on the top step. 

He had a pack of cigarettes and a lighter hidden behind one of the potted plants, tucked away from the prying eyes of Sophia—and Harry—who constantly pressured him to quit. It was a bad habit, he knew. But he’d been doing it so long he didn’t know how to stop. 

The first pull sent a lovely calm through his body, relaxing his mind and his muscles, clearing his vision even as he blew out a cloud of smoke. It was rare that Liam got angry, even at times like this; he was a pretty mild-mannered guy. Almost infuriatingly so, according to Louis. He never just… lost it. Never let anything compromise his reason. He was a man of many emotions, but rage had never seemed to be one of them. 

Another pull, and he balanced his arm on his knee, watching his fingers tremble around the cigarette, shaking embers onto the ground. He would call Sophia himself. Make things right. What they had was too important to end this way.

His phone began to ring then, buzzing obnoxiously on the concrete where it sat beside him and bringing him out of his thoughts. Liam cursed quietly and put out the cigarette before answering, almost like he’d been caught.

“Hello?” He muttered, not bothering to check who it was before he put it to his ear. 

“Hey Liam, is Harry there?” Niall’s thick accent was immediately recognizable, and Liam felt himself smile. 

“Hey Niall,” He greeted back. “Yeah, Harry’s here. Having a bit of a lad’s weekend, I guess.” He joked. 

Niall laughed, though not as hardily as normal. “It’s Friday, you idiot. I’m at work, why aren’t you?”

“This idiot is the boss, that’s why.” Liam smirked. He’d missed talking to Niall. They didn’t see each other as often as they used to, because of work schedules and whatnot. 

“Fair enough.” Niall sighed. “So… Harry….”

“He’s stressed out about something, but I don’t know what.” Liam muttered. “Did you guys have a fight?”

Niall laughed once, somehow dark and giddy at the same time. “The opposite, actually. Finally.”

Liam felt his mouth fall open, and he looked over his shoulder at the door, as if he could see Harry through it. “Seriously? That’s amazing; I’m so happy for you guys.”

“I’m happy for us, too.” Niall replied, a little breathlessly. But his voice was quiet as he continued. “I think Harry’s freaking out about it a little. Could you talk to him for me, maybe? He listens to you… But don’t make it obvious that I told you. I don’t want him to know I’ve talked to you about our sex life.”

Liam rubbed hard at his forehead and shut his eyes. He’d almost forgotten; Niall didn’t know that Harry had come to Liam for counseling ages ago. ‘Just someone to talk to so I don’t lose my mind’, he’d called it. But Niall was clueless. And Harry had no idea that once every couple weeks, Niall called Liam’s phone in a frenzy, ranting about Harry’s unwillingness to move forward in their relationship. Liam never said a word, because he was good friend. But he’d reminded both of them on several occasions how stupid it was to keep things from each other. Neither of them listened. 

“Do you also want me to tell Nick that Nina said that Katie said Yolanda kinda sorta likes him?” Liam muttered. 

“Piss off,” Niall laughed. 

“This is all very high school, I hope you know that.” Liam sighed. “I’m sure in the end Harry will ask you to prom and you’ll both live happily ever after.”

“Yeah well I hope you’re right… Just get him to calm down and come home, please.”

Liam huffed, but felt himself smile. “Of course.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Niall said. “Give him a kiss for me,” 

 

***

 

When Liam went back inside, he saw that the kitchen was now immaculate, and Harry was sitting at the table, waiting for him. Two places were set with full plates of food, but he hadn’t taken a single bite yet. 

Before sitting down, Liam walked over to Harry and placed a big, wet kiss on his forehead, never one to disappoint. “Thanks for breakfast. That’s from your Prince Charming,”

Harry grimaced and wiped the spit away with the back of his hand. “Gross. You smell like cigarettes… Niall called you?”

Liam picked up his fork and tore a piece of pancake off with it. “Yeah. He’s worried about you.”   


Harry seemed to think about that for a moment or two, and then cast his eyes down and shuffled his fork around in food. Liam waited, eyebrows raised, assuming Harry would naturally continue the conversation on and open up about what happened that had him so upset. But clearly he wasn’t going to do that. 

“Harry—”

“You seemed mad when you left the kitchen,” Harry spoke up suddenly, clearly changing the subject. Liam glared, but bit his lip. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I was just thinking about Soph, is all.” Liam sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. “Still hard to take it in, you know? She actually left. Took the ring off and left.” Liam lifted the ring from his pocket to show Harry for a moment before putting it back. 

“She’ll come back. You two always work things out.” Harry said quietly, his eyes getting big and sad like they always did. 

“I hope so…” Liam murmured, tracing the lines in the wooden table. But then he sighed and straightened himself up in his chair, figuring he’d felt sorry for himself enough for one morning. “I’m taking my first personal day today; had Henderson take on my patients to cover for me. We’re going to do something fun.”

“Fun.” Harry deadpanned, looking more than a little skeptical.

“Well, someone’s a Negative Nancy,” Liam teased. “Just eat up and I’ll think of something.”

“I prefer Hapless Harry,” He mumbled, but he drizzled a bit of syrup over his pancakes and took a bite of them anyway, then moaned loudly. 

A shock ran up Liam’s spine at the sound. He didn’t like the feeling. “Um… you alright?”

“These pancakes are so good!” Harry whined, shoveling more into his mouth. “You know how you just have a taste for something?” He asked, though his question was muffled by mounds of said pancakes blocking the sound.

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess so.” He took a bite himself. Damn, they were pretty good.

Harry moaned again as he chewed, eyes closed, bouncing in his seat restlessly. “So good,”

Watching Harry like that, Liam couldn’t help but remember the night before, when they’d practically christened his living room couch. He hadn’t forgotten it, but until that moment it had seemed like some kind of fucked up dream you had after eating bad fish. Not a real thing that happened. Liam’s mouth became uncomfortably dry as memories of Harry’s long, bare legs sprawling over the couch cushions hit him like a punch to the chest. 

“You’re not eating your food, Lima, everything okay?” Harry asked a few moments later, his eyes almost deceitfully innocent. 

No, everything was not okay. Liam was trying to remain calm, but his brain was having a minor meltdown trying to understand why he was feeling the things he was feeling for his best mate. He shook his head a little, as if that would help. It probably just made him look stupid.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…tired.” Liam replied lamely. And before Harry could ask any more questions, he poured his full concentration into his food.

 

***

 

Amusement park. It wasn’t a very creative idea, but it was the first thing that came to mind when Liam thought of pure, unadulterated fun. Yes, Liam was a grown man, not a thirteen year old boy, but who the hell didn’t like rollercoasters?

“What do you mean you don’t like rollercoasters?” Liam demanded of Harry, the two of them standing just outside of the canopy where the line to the ride started. It was fairly hot for early October, so they were both in t-shirts (Harry was technically borrowing one of Liam’s), and they wore sunglasses to ward off the intense sunshine from their eyes. Still, Harry’s worried frown was very much visible on his face.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re okay, but they make me dizzy.”

Liam threw up his hands and huffed. “Well you could have told me this before I paid $40 for your ticket. Why do I always pay for everything, anyway?”

Harry shrugged again, but this time there was a small grin on his face. “Cause you like taking care of me…”

Liam paused, suddenly feeling a little dizzy himself. But it was probably just from the sun beating down heavily on the back of his neck. He was going to have the worst sunburn. 

“Fine, fine, okay.” Harry shook his head, curls bouncing happily at his shoulders despite the grimace on his face. “I’ll ride the coasters. But if I puke, I puke on you.”

“You’ll puke over the side of the car like a civilized human being, and you’ll like it.” Liam grinned. “Come on, the line’s moving!”

 

“It feels like my guts are made of spaghetti,” Harry mumbled, clutching his stomach as the ride began to creep forward. They’d ditched their sunglasses in one of the cubbies, so Liam could see the worry reflected in Harry’s bright green eyes as he peered upwards at the steep incline. He felt kind of bad; he didn’t realize Harry was actually afraid.

“Here, hold onto me. Close your eyes.” Liam instructed, lifting his arm to settle around Harry’s back and bring him closer. He was surprisingly small, despite how he looked sometimes. Liam could feel Harry’s ribs right under his fingertips; could grip the little extra flesh at his side with one hand. Harry seemed to take comfort in this, so Liam continued to sweep his hand up and down as Harry buried his head, curls and all, against Liam’s chest. He stayed there until the ride was over, and other than a few surprised yelps, he stayed quiet. 

“Wasn’t so bad,” Harry decided, once the ride was over and they’d retrieved their sunglasses. It was starting to become a little overcast though, so Liam tucked his away in his pocket and Harry pushed his up into his hair to keep the stray locks out of his face. His hair was quite a sight after five minutes of intense wind. Harry combed through it absentmindedly, slowly untangling it until it looked somewhat back to normal. 

“…Are you sure?” Liam asked. He actually felt horrible now; seeing Harry all curled up against him like that—although it was nice—just made him realize that he was being a giant dick. “We don’t have to go on anymore of them if you don’t want to.”

Harry turned to him, suddenly grinning. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you?” He nudged Liam with his hip. “But no, I’m alright. Just the first-ride jitters, I suppose.” Harry peered off somewhere then, seeming to get lost in his own thoughts momentarily. But then he did a bit of a jig in place, which wasn’t out of character for him, but was still a bit odd. They were standing in line for ice cream, and everyone else was standing still, waiting their turn.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, catching the way Liam was frowning at him with a question in his eyes. 

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?” Liam guessed, noting the way Harry’s foot was tapping on the concrete like he couldn’t control it. 

Harry shook his head. “Nah, just don’t really like standing in lines.” He grinned at Liam then, and Liam knew he was bullshitting, but whatever. It was their turn to order, and all Liam could think about was ice cream.

Harry ordered a bottle of water.

 

One hour, three rides, and another bottled water later, Harry was having a little more trouble keeping his composure. 

“Harry, the bathroom’s right there, just go.” Liam said for what seemed like the hundredth time. They were sitting at worn-down picnic table under a canopy; some type of dining setup for one of the Amusement park’s in-house restaurants. Harry and Liam were both picking through a single giant order of chicken tenders and fries, neither of them very hungry because of the hot, muggy weather. There was a small bathroom setup about twenty feet away with barely any line. 

Harry was sitting beside Liam, fidgeting around every couple seconds and wiggling his butt down on the bench in order to hold onto the liquid threatening to burst out of his bladder.  
“Absolutely not. Those things are gross.” He managed, trying and failing to discreetly squeeze his legs together. Liam watched in amusement. 

“Whatever. I’m going. Stay here and watch the food.”

So Liam headed off to the bathroom, and in less than five minutes he was on his way back over to the table, planning to lecture Harry again about how he was being such a baby about it. But halfway over to the table, he noticed Harry talking to some weird, older guy with sunburnt arms and a scruffy beard. The way he was looking at Harry made Liam’s stomach turn. 

“I’m just waiting for my friend.” He heard Harry say when he walked up. Then, “Oh, here he is.”

“Hi,” Liam deadpanned, looking at the older guy. He didn’t sit down; just stood with his arms tensed at his side, his gaze unwavering.

“Liam, this is Jack.” Harry said, leg bouncing under the table. “He was just telling me about this awesome ride he just came off of and—”

Jack had been steadily reddening under Liam’s glare, and his eyes darted around wildly for a moment before dropping to his feet. He grunted a few apologies before hurrying off in another direction. 

“Liam, what did you say to him?” Harry asked, gazing off in the direction he’d run to. 

“Harry, mate, you’ve got to stop talking to random people all the time.”

“What?” Harry frowned. “Okay yeah he was a little weird, but he seemed harmless. I wasn’t going anywhere with him or anything.”

Liam shook his head. He’d worked as a prison psychiatrist when he was fresh out of medical school, still learning the job. He’d met with murderers and rapists and various other violent, disturbed personalities. He could sense them now, like a twisting in his gut taking him right back to those terrifying sessions, staring into the eyes of someone who’d lost touch with reality.

Liam blinked, then, drawing himself out of his thoughts and back into the present. He wouldn’t trouble Harry with the real reason he’d been on edge; he just needed him to be more aware.

“No more talking to weird strangers, okay?” Liam gripped Harry’s forearm, a little roughly, and looked into his eyes. He felt a flare of the anger from that morning rustle inside of him, heating his skin. “Promise me.”

Harry looked annoyed, but also captivated by what he was saying. He tugged his arm away and massaged the sore spot where Liam’s fingers had been. “Alright, alright. Jesus.” He grumbled. Then, more jokingly, “I won’t talk to a stranger ever again without your permission…Dad.” He grinned as he said the last word, his eyes dancing even in the somewhat-gloomy afternoon light. 

Liam felt something within him stir, but he pressed it down again. It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right then. He wasn’t even entirely sure what it was. But he nodded, managing a smile in return. “Alright then. Good lad.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder a moment before walking over to one of the park’s security men. He explained that he was a doctor and that he’d noticed erratic activity from a man who was just there. He gave a detailed description, and pointed the officer in the right direction to find him. He wished he could do more, but clearly he had his hands tied.

He looked over at Harry who’d come up beside him, foot tapping insistently on the pavement. He looked over at Liam with a small, apologetic smile on his face.

“You still have to go.” Liam sighed. “And because you’re an outright loon you refuse to use the restroom right in front of you.”

“I’m not a loon, I just have standards.” Harry retorted, sweeping his hair over his shoulder and grinning. He stomped off ridiculously then, turning curious heads as he went. But Liam didn’t really care; he was beaming like an idiot as he followed right behind him. Harry was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he made life interesting, that’s for sure. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Harry moaned, leaning back against his head rest, his wet hair making weird patterns on the black leather. They’d been caught in the rain on the way out of the amusement park, and unfortunately, despite their best efforts, they’d gotten caught in the mania of people trying to leave. Traffic was back to back, break lights a shocking red in the dreary, rainy mess of outside. Every other minute, a horn was blowing, or someone was cursing out the window at someone who cut them off. Harry still had to pee.

“This is probably mother nature telling you to get over yourself and start using public restrooms.” Liam murmured, trying not to smile. But it was hard. Harry looked downright ridiculous, especially now that he was in the car and Liam was the only person who could see him. 

“Shut….up….” Harry gritted out, his entire body tensed as he grabbed himself for dear life. “I feel like I might explode.”

“Mmhm… You might.”

“Liam! Not helping!”

Liam crept forward along with traffic; barely a foot before the line was stopping again. They hadn’t even technically left park grounds yet. “Well maybe you should listen to me next time. Just saying. I’m usually right.”

“Piss off.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut and let his head loll against the window, smudging up the glass. He was drenching wet; hair a mess of black, tangled curls, his jeans completely saturated, and his t-shirt plastered to his chest. Liam wasn’t much better off. “More heat,” Harry mumbled. 

Liam already had the head cranked up pretty high, but he put it on it’s most powerful setting anyway, and they both sighed at the wave of delicious warmth that washed over them. Liam just hoped they didn’t run out of gas before they got out of traffic. 

Liam looked out the window, noticing a small grove of trees there with some dense foliage in between the trunks. “Why don’t you just run outside and go in the bushes over there, if it’s that bad.”

Harry’s face in response to that was a classic, that’s for sure.

“Go in the bushes?? In front of all these people?!?” 

“Alright, alright. It was just a suggestion.” Liam chuckled. “I don’t know what else to tell you, mate.” He glanced around the car interior for a moment then, checking in the back as well. In the pocket on the back of his seat he found one of those massive bottles of water. But it was empty, except for one small bit at the bottom, so he tossed it to Harry. “There you go.”

Harry picked up the bottle, frowned at it, then frowned harder at Liam. “What?”

“Haven’t you ever had to go in a bottle? Like when you were a kid and your dad wouldn’t stop on road trips?” Liam laughed to himself, but Harry still looked clueless. He’d spent most of his childhood growing up around his mother and his sister, and Liam doubted Anne would have allowed him to do something like that under her watch. So he just shook his head and explained. “You go in the bottle, you know? Like just open it up, go, and close it back. We’ll toss it out later.”

“What?” Harry demanded again, looking offended and a little fearful. “I’m not peeing in a damn plastic bottle.”

Liam shrugged. “Well then you’ll sit there and be quiet.” He turned his eyes back on the road, humming to himself and drumming his fingers randomly on the steering wheel until it was time to move up another two inches. He glanced over at Harry again a couple minutes later and almost laughed aloud. “You’re going to give yourself a bladder infection, you know that right?”

Harry was doubled over himself, holding onto his crotch for all he was worth, and making faint whimpering noises as he tried to hold it in a little longer. The bottle lay abandoned at his feet, his stubbornness keeping him from relief. 

Liam reached over and patted him on the back, gently. Harry relaxed into his touch a bit, but still rocked back and forth some, his curls falling on either side of his neck. “Come on, Haz, sit up.”

For once, he listened, and straightened out his shoulders until they were parallel with the back of the seat. Harry was biting his lip, hard, and his knees wobbled back and forth, as if their movement would somehow help his predicament. His hands never left their place between his legs, fingers curling tightly around himself, desperate to not lose control. His cheeks were flushed pink with exertion, and his hair was falling into his eyes a little. The whole scene brought that feeling back that Liam had been trying so hard to subdue. He was afraid to explore it, but his curiosity was starting to get the best of him. He was so engrossed that he nearly missed it when traffic began to move; at least three cars behind him started laying on the horn at the same time, surely cursing him for holding up the line. 

Ten minutes later, Harry was still suffering. A thin sheen of sweat was present on his forehead, and if he bit his lip any harder, he was going to draw blood. Liam was still grappling with himself over what he was feeling, but he reached out to Harry anyway when traffic stopped, his fingers grazing over the exposed skin of his his lower abdomen where his shirt had ridden up. He felt the hard swell of Harry’s full bladder pressing against the waistband of his jeans. Harry clenched his legs tighter at the contact, his head lolling to the side as he moaned softly. Liam watched him a moment, mesmerized, and then on a whim, he flattened his hand on the area and added a little pressure. 

“Fuck!” Harry cried out, his eyes flying open as a large dark spot reappeared on the front of his nearly-dry jeans. Another whimper left his lips as he desperately tried to stop the leak. 

“Sorry, I—” But Liam didn’t really know why he’d done it. He blinked a couple times, feeling disoriented. The rain was still pouring down relentlessly, thundering on the car windows, creating a bit of a canopy over them and their warm little space. He’d lost himself in it a little, he realized. 

“I can’t hold this much longer,” Harry huffed, shaking his head. His whole body looked like it was trembling. 

Liam’s mouth was dry. He watched Harry’s resolve crumble right in front of his eyes, watched his muscles clench a little tighter as he curled in on himself again, rutting down hard into the seat. Liam knew he wasn’t joking; he definitely wouldn’t last much longer. So he reached down and handed Harry the empty bottle again. “Here,” He said softly. It was Harry’s only other option to letting go right there on the leather of the car seat. He took it, looked at Liam with wide, green eyes, and pressed his lips together into a firm line before removing the cap and hastily unzipping the fly of his jeans. 

Liam didn’t look, and he tried not to listen, but he found it impossible not to direct every part of his attention to Harry; the sighs of relief, the soft thump against the leather as he finally relaxed against it, the pounding of liquid into the bottle. He nearly rammed into the car in front of him at one point when Harry hummed and cursed at how good it felt. 

Liam didn’t speak for a while after that; just kept facing forward, eyes on the road and nothing else. Harry didn’t seem to mind though. He just turned on the radio and not-so-quietly sung along to the songs that played. He was bouncing in his seat again, but from happiness this time, not desperation. Normally Liam would have joined him; there was nothing he loved more than bursting out into song with one of his mates. But his body was betraying him, and he didn’t understand it; didn’t know how to deal with what was happening to him. It wasn’t enough for Harry to notice, or enough to have him blurry-eyed and hot all over, but Liam could feel it as he drove, straining against the fabric of his jeans, threatening to worsen if he didn’t stop thinking about it. 

Liam was hard, and Harry was the reason.


	5. Safe (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face-off.

—— LIAM: ——

About an hour later, Liam held the door open as Harry walked into the house. Both of them were dripping everywhere like wet dogs, and shivering from the relentless chill of rain water. It was no longer a downpour outside, but they’d still gotten caught in a stubborn drizzle that slid down the necks of their t-shirts and beaded up on their arms and faces. 

“This is such a mess,” Harry muttered, looking down at the wet, somewhat muddy smears they’d left on the hardwood as he bent to tug off one boot, then the other. 

“It is,” Liam agreed. He’d already kicked off his own shoes; left to stand in a pair of gross, soggy socks. It was so uncomfortable it made his skin crawl. 

“I can get a mop,” Harry offered. He looked up at Liam then, one hand swiping his wet hair out of his eyes. He was smiling, eyes soft and clear, his lips a shocking pink against his wet, pale skin. Lovely. He looked lovely. 

Liam blinked a couple times, snapping himself out of it. “Uh—no, that’s okay. I’ve got this. Go get dry.” 

“You sure?” Harry asked, a question in his eyes even as he started backing up towards the stairs.

Liam sighed, reaching out to grab at Harry’s waist and whirl him around in the other direction. His grip was firm, and he felt the soft warmth of Harry’s love handles beneath his palms. “Go on then,” He said, swatting him on the backside to get him moving. It was something he’d done a thousand times before, but this time his fingers lingered, squeezing Harry’s ass slightly before pulling away. He hadn’t meant it to happen, but it did, and Harry noticed. He glanced at Liam curiously over his shoulder for a moment or two before facing forward again and ascending the rest of the way up the stairs. 

Liam was left alone with his soggy socks and a head full of jumbled-up thoughts.

 

The mess on the floor was easy enough to clean, and soon Liam was letting the hot water of his shower drum over his shoulders and his back, washing away the tension and clearing his mind. He was hard again; unable to subdue the images that kept swimming into his thoughts of dark hair and puffy pink lips. But he refused to do anything about it. Harry was his best mate, and he was sure he’d never be able to look at him the same way again if he tugged one off in the shower thinking about him. 

It was just stress, anyway. Sophia was gone, at least for the time being, and the life he’d planned out for himself was in danger of shattering to dust. He was a little lost, that’s all. Harry just happened to be the unfortunate recipient of his confusion. 

Liam turned off the shower head, stepped out onto the memory foam mat, and dried himself off with a towel before walking to his closet and deciding on something to wear. Since rain was still pelting the windows and didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, he would dress in something comfortable. He picked some clothes out for Harry too—a t-shirt, some sweatpants, and a pair of fuzzy blue socks Sophia had gotten Liam one Christmas as a gag gift. Now that he thought about it, Harry would probably love them. 

The clothes would undoubtedly be too big; Liam had an averaged-sized build, but Harry, despite seeming larger than life sometimes, was slight. Beneath the broad plains of his shoulders, his body tapered down to a narrow waist and slender legs. The sweatpants would probably ride dangerously low on his hips, showing off the graceful sweep of his fern tattoos and the faint trail of hair running down from his navel. 

Liam pushed the image out of his mind.

He dressed and grabbed the clothes he’d set aside for Harry before heading out of his bedroom and down the long, dark hallway. He could hear the low rumble of faraway thunder, signaling there was a storm approaching. The entire house was already cast in shadows, making it seem much later than it actually was. It was unsettling, and Liam couldn’t wait until he had the chance to light a few candles and get the place looking like home again. 

The door to the guest room where Harry was staying was already cracked open when he approached it, and he could hear the pattering of the shower running even where he stood in the hall. Harry was still in the shower, so Liam would just leave the clothes behind for him to put on when he came out.

The door whined when he pushed it open, the constant thrumming of the shower running suddenly loud enough to cover the sound. Liam hardly noticed, though. It was what he saw inside the room that caught his attention, his dick thickening so fast it almost hurt. 

Harry was lying on the bed, completely bare; every inch of him exposed. The faintest remains of his summer tan were still glowing on his skin. All five fingers of his left hand gripped the duvet beneath him until his knuckles were white with the effort, meanwhile his right hand rested between his legs, which were spread wide, feet planted firmly on the covers. Liam watched as Harry teased himself; tracing his rim, slowly pushing a finger into himself until it disappeared. His eyes were closed, but his lips had fallen open into a completely wrecked ‘O’ of pleasure. His moans were soft and insistent, coming from deep within him and making his whole body tense with the effort to keep quiet. His erection was considerable; neglected, pressed against his belly and making his skin wet with a constant dribble of precum. Harry added another finger into himself as Liam watched, stretching his hole wider with a particularly loud moan. Harry was already so close; if Liam were to walk in and start fucking him, Harry would come hard enough for the both of them.

And the thought was there; vivid and shameless in his mind’s eye. How he’d spread Harry apart even wider and tangle his fingers in those beautiful brown curls. Suck plump pink lips into his mouth while he fucked into him with abandon. Harry let out another low, impossibly needy moan, and Liam stumbled back, suddenly desperate to leave the room before he did something he’d regret. He knocked his elbow against the wall as he tried to go, cursing loudly but still escaping into the hall. 

Harry’s clothes lay on the ground in front of the door, forgotten where Liam had dropped them. The heavy stomp of shoes on the stairs and Liam’s gasping breaths seemed magnified in the impossible quiet throughout the rest of the house. There was no question that Harry knew he’d been watching. No guessing whether he’d seen the obvious tent of an erection in his sweats. Upstairs, Liam heard the squeak of the knobs as the shower cut off.

 

***

 

Liam didn’t drink very often, but it was too nasty outside to smoke, and his fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, even as he poured his second glass of the dark liquor he kept sitting on the large, mahogany desk in his study. He leaned against the desk now, pretending to watch the chaos of the storm outside through the windows. His thoughts were running in an unbroken loop, replaying the things he’d seen upstairs. He hated the way the memory made his mouth go dry and sent a sharp pang of desire twisting through his abdomen.

Knock, knock.

Harry was standing at the door then, preceded by a particularly loud clap of thunder that made the hairs on the back of Liam’s neck stand. “Hey,” The younger said quietly, slowly slinking into the room like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there. He was wrapped up in an enormous, snow white robe—Liam’s robe—and seemingly nothing else. It was slipping down over one of his shoulders, exposing the delicate line of his collarbone and the tattoos there. He didn’t move to fix it; only crossed his arms tighter across his chest so the robe didn’t fall open completely. 

“What do you want, Harry?” Liam murmured, avoiding his gaze and instead concentrating on setting his empty glass down on the wooden desk top as gently as possible. 

Pausing only briefly, Harry came to stand beside him, the floor-to-ceiling windows in the background framing his body with the wild, whipping tree branches outside and low-hanging thunderclouds that were so dark they were almost black. Harry’s eyes, however, were nearly glowing. 

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have…I know…” Harry bit his lip as he searched for the words. Liam felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he palmed it, wishing he could answer. Anything to get him out of the situation he was in. Harry continued on though, refusing to look anywhere but at Liam as he spoke. “It’s just… I hadn’t all day, and I thought—”

Liam’s phone buzzed in his pocket again, and this time he took it out, muttering a quick “Sorry,” to Harry as he interrupted him mid-sentence. There were two texts from Niall; one asking him if he’d spoken to Harry yet, and then another, more impatient message with five question marks and nothing else. Liam sighed and ran a hand over his face. 

“Are you mad at me? Is that it?” Harry spoke up, drawing Liam’s attention away from his phone. His tone was insistent and slightly edged with anger or something else. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Liam slid his phone back into his pocket and leaned heavily against the desk, gripping the edges of it too tightly as he looked over at Harry. He must have gotten into the shower at some point, because his hair was still wet in certain places; stray water droplets running down his cheeks or plopping softly onto the floor. The rest of it was soft and wispy, twisting into big ringlets along his shoulders and smelling faintly of strawberries. Harry swiped a lock of it behind his ear as Liam watched him; it was a nervous habit he probably wasn’t even aware of.

“How are things at home, Haz?” Liam asked softly.

Harry visibly drew into himself at the question. His shoulders were hunched and lowered as he shrugged in response. “Fine, I guess.”

“And Niall?”

Harry shook his head; two quick, stubborn movements. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

But Liam pressed further. “Something happen between you two? Something that’s got you so upset?”

Harry glared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line, unmoving.

“Tell me, Harry. Now.” It wasn’t a plea; it was a command. Hard and firm and final. Harry looked almost surprised by it, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open just the slightest. Liam watched, feeling a thrill run through him at the reaction. 

“We…” Harry started off, his gaze suddenly cast towards something on the other side of the room. He kept biting his lip and letting it go, blinking hard against what might have been tears. “Fuck,” He cursed softly under his breath before settling his eyes fully on Liam again. “We fooled around a bit, and I sucked him off. Nothing major, it’s just…”

“You’re worried,” Liam supplied. 

Harry nodded, hugging himself tighter in the robe. “I don’t want it to be like University all over again. That person wasn’t me. I don’t want Niall to see me like that.”

Liam felt his heart go out to Harry then. He hadn’t known him in University, but Harry had told him stories. “I understand.” He said quietly, although he wasn’t certain he did. “I’m sure you can do this, Haz. You’re older now; you have more control over your actions. And I’ll be here to help you this time, anyway you might need it.”

“I’m out of anxiety pills. I can’t get anymore for a couple weeks; that’s why I was calling you last night.” Harry said, swiping his hand up and down his arm. “They weren’t even working that well, but at least it was something.”

Harry didn’t have anxiety. At least not severely enough to need medication. Liam knew this, and he’d told Harry this on multiple occasions, preaching to deaf ears. Harry was restless. Buzzing like a live wire. That was just who he was. He wasn’t anxious, he was just very much alive. “You don’t need the pills, Harry, and even if you did, I can’t get you any more.” Liam sighed. “Your doctor’s a twat for prescribing you those in the first place.” 

“They were helping,” Harry insisted.

Liam laughed, a little harshly. “No, you just wanted them to.”

Harry was glaring now. Anger coloring his cheeks and tensing in his jaw. A flash of lightening lit up the windows behind him, momentarily blinding. “Are you trying to tell me I’m making this up in my head?”

“Of course not,” Liam argued back, his frustration building. “But you can do this on your own.”

Harry scoffed a laugh at that. And when he spoke, his voice was iced over, sharp enough to cut. “Fuck you, Liam. You really have no idea how hard it is, do you? How long it’s taken me to get control over my life again. If I could make it stop, I would. Stop treating it like it’s so simple.”

Liam felt rage spark within him, hot and sudden. He closed the distance between them in one step, suddenly so close to Harry he could see the tiny flecks of gold in the bright green of his irises. Every muscle in his body was tensed, and it was a wonder he kept his voice even as he said, “You’re a fucking coward.You run the moment things get too hard, and everyone around you is supposed to walk on egg shells, afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest accusation. And poor Niall—”

Harry shoved Liam hard, causing him to stumble back a few steps, but not fall. There were unshed tears glittering in his eyes as he spoke. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Liam. I run from things, but so do you. Sophia walked out on you last night, and you haven’t done anything about it. You won’t even call her.”

Liam walked forward then, feeling wildly unstable as he looked at Harry. “Shut up,” He said, and the words came out slow and deep, rough with emotion.

“She’s supposed to be the love of your life, but now she’s gone and it’s like you’ve barely noticed.” Harry’s eyes were dark and challenging as Liam came to stand right up against him, twisting a hand roughly into his hair. “You noticed me, though… you’ve noticed me all day.”

“Sit,” Liam let go of the hair and nearly growled the word in Harry’s face. “Now,” 

And Harry obediently fell backwards into the black leather chair behind him, curling his legs up by his side, letting the robe fall open a little further, nearly to his navel now. His face was relaxed, his gaze unbroken and all-consuming. 

Liam moved forward, bracing his hands on either side of the chair and looking directly into Harry’s eyes. He could feel desire pulling at him, shaping his anger into a dizzying desperation that made it difficult to breathe. His dick throbbed in his pants, thick and prominent in his sweats. There was no more hiding the way he felt. Trapped beneath him, Harry glanced down, and then back up again after a moment, licking his lips lightly. 

“You want to fuck me,” Harry said, and it wasn’t a question. A single lock of hair had fallen over one of his eyes, and his smile was wet-lipped and teasing. “You want to fuck me more than you want to be with her.”

Liam grabbed Harry’s chin roughly, lifting it up and holding it there so Harry was forced to look into his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Just shut—” His voice wavered on the words, cracking over his own denial. “I swear to God, Harry, I’ll—”

A pounding on the front door was enough to make both their heads turn in surprise. Liam probably would have assumed it was just the storm if the pounding hadn’t come a second time too, harder and more urgent.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Liam called out irritably, walking towards the front door, readjusting himself in his boxer briefs to hide his erection. He didn’t look back, but he could hear the soft padding of Harry’s bare feet following close behind him. 

“Ah! Gentlemen! Just the lads I was looking for.” Louis greeted them when Liam opened the door. The rain was still pouring down hard around him, but he was dry and cozy under a giant black umbrella, grinning his brightest Louis grin. “Let’s pretend like you guys aren’t shit friends who completely forgot about the very important Gala I’ve been planning for months now—it’s tonight, by the way—and just go ahead and move forward to the part where you do a little back-breaking labor to make up for it, eh? You’re coming with me.”


	6. Wanna Go Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Niall have a "talk".

——HARRY——

“If he wasn’t being such a dick, I’d ask if he was okay.” Louis craned his neck to look in the rearview mirror at Liam standing broodily in the doorway. They were heading down the gravel drive; Harry in tow, sitting in the passenger seat. 

Harry had been staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. He blinked a couple times and looked at Louis when he spoke, taking a moment to catch on before he mumbled in agreement. 

“That’s pretty fucking terrible, though,” Louis muttered, almost to himself as he kept his eyes on the road. “What happened with him and Sophia,”

Harry nodded. He doubted Liam had explicitly spoken to Louis about what happened, but news traveled fast anyway. 

“You seem a tad… lethargic there, Haz. You alright?” Louis glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised.

Harry was dressed in his own clothes again, clean and fresh out the laundry, but he could still smell Liam all over him; cigarettes and a woodsy cologne, like the aftermath of a campfire. “I’m fine,” He looked over at Louis and lifted his lips in a small smile. It wasn’t much, but Louis had a million things on his mind with the Gala in a few hours, so it was enough to appease him for the moment. They drove in silence after that, giving Harry several lovely minutes of introspection and self-loathing.

…He wouldn’t have fucked Liam. Not really.

He needed to believe that—it was the only way he’d be able to stand himself. But truthfully, he knew… Things were getting out of hand. His resolve was wearing thin, and he didn’t have the same amount of control that he once had. Seeing Liam so undone by him, nearly panting for the taste of his skin or the feel of his body beneath his—fuck, it made every nerve in Harry’s body come alive with the power of it, the thrill of holding someone so completely under his spell. 

He’d have to apologize to Liam. Somehow. But at that moment all Harry could think about was Niall, and how he deserved someone better. How he himself was too selfish to let him go.

“Hey, space cadet—let’s go.”

Harry startled a little and turned to see that the car was parked and Louis was already out on the pavement, preparing to shut the door. 

“Coming,” Harry sighed, and followed suit. 

 

***

 

The venue where the Gala was being held was beautiful—Harry could see that, even though everything was still a mess around him. There were people rushing in every direction, equipment folded up on the floor waiting to be put together, a couple different men up on ladders, adjusting the lighting. A wild-looking woman with an iPad hugged to her chest who was fussing at the people lugging several flat, bubble-wrapped pieces in through the front door.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Louis grinned. “A fucking disaster.”

“I’m sure everything will come together in time.” Harry reached up and squeezed Louis' shoulder supportively for a moment before wandering off a bit, taking in the rest of the scene. 

“Not so fast Harold,” Louis called out, waving him back over. His other hand was running through his hair, and he was checking his phone every ten seconds like it was a nervous tick. “Listen, Liam is supposedly on his way, but until then, you’re all the extra help I’ve got. I had to fire my assistant; he was an idiot.”

Harry rolled his eyes a bit. “So what can I do for you, boss?” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Louis muttered, distractedly looking over Harry’s shoulder for a moment. “Also, go see what Bat-shit Belinda over there is complaining about and get it handled.” 

 

***

 

Harry didn’t know if her name was really Belinda, or if that was just something Louis had made up. So he walked up to her and just sort of awkwardly stood there clearing his throat until she whirled on him, her eyes wide and…batty….behind her thick-rimmed glasses.

“Excuse me, is there something I can help with?” Harry asked, watching as more of the bubble-wrapped pieces—paintings, he assumed—were brought in. 

“No—no, there’s nothing anybody can do to help with this bullshit! The idiots who wrapped up the paintings decided to label them with stickers…stickers on the goddamned bubble wrap!” Bat-shit Belinda held up both her hands at once to show nearly a dozen white stickers balanced on her fingertips. “Look at this mess! Oh, fuck—” When she’d lifted her hands, her iPad fell with a sickening thump onto the carpet at her feet. She bent down to pick it up, but luckily it was alright. 

“I, um…” Harry glanced back at Louis only to find that he had long disappeared to some other part of the venue. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to be handling this.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Belinda glanced at Harry, then at the people who’d finally finished lugging in the canvases. They glared back at her. “Let’s start opening these fuckers! We’ll have to look at the artist signature on the back and arrange by name. If my boss finds out they were sent here without being properly-labeled, I can start planning my funeral right now. At the moment we don’t know the difference between a $10,000 Johan Gus and a $50 finger-paint monstrosity by the weird stoner guy next door. ”

Belinda handed Harry a small painting to get started with. It was light in his hands, and half the bubble wrap had already been popped before he even started tearing it off. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

 

***

 

Most of the paintings Harry opened just seemed like weird abstract bursts of color. He tried to see it as art, but it was hard when they looked like something a five year old took home to have pinned up on the fridge. Luckily, most of the signatures were easy to read. But there was one painting…the last one he opened and the only one to give him pause out of the bunch. 

“Hey, is this actually something someone painted?” Harry asked the man sitting beside him. They’d been working quietly side by side for nearly an hour, opening and identifying the artwork, and Harry suddenly felt bad about not knowing his name. He watched as the older man glanced over at the piece he was holding and let his eyes roam over it. “Yes. Looks to be a very good someone, too. It’s called hyper-realism; paintings made to look so real it’s like looking at a photograph.”

Harry looked down at the canvas he’d unwrapped. It was lying face-up on one of the worn blue folding tables, a mess of bubble wrap lying around it like a shed skin. The painting was a black and white work; a close-up of a little boy’s face, wide-eyed, dark-haired, and freckled beneath a fine layer of dust covering his cheeks. Harry could almost see the texture of the dirt on his skin. Could almost feel the big, dark eyes staring back at him. He couldn’t believe someone had painted it. Refused to believe it until he could find the artists’ name and look him up for himself. 

Gently, Harry flipped over the canvas and held it suspended in one hand, tilted at a diagonal while he peered at the back, searching for a signature. He found it, next to a date that simply said ’13. The name beside it, however, was not as easy to decipher. “What the hell is that…” Harry muttered under his breath, tracing the pen strokes under his fingers. He was just about to look up and ask the older man’s opinion again when a shock of blonde hair caught his eye from across the room. 

Niall.

Harry felt his heart jump into his throat at the sight of those bright blue eyes locking on him, silently calling him over. He glanced to his right, cautiously, seeing that everyone else, including Batty-Belinda, was busy working with their backs turned to him. He took his opportunity to slip away then, quickly forgetting about the painting he’d been so fascinated with a moment before. Niall’s smile was small but genuine when Harry reached him seconds later.

“Look at my little helper elf,” Niall teased lightly. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning against the entryway, one foot out in the hall, one foot in the room where the paintings would be displayed. “Are those the ones being auctioned off tonight?”

Harry nodded, still overwhelmed by Niall and how gorgeous he looked, just smiling up at him in that way of his. “I think I’ve helped enough for now though. Let’s leave before I get dragged back in.” Harry glanced over his shoulder and grinned as he and Niall hurried out into the hall, out of sight.

They walked for a little while in silence, Harry daring to take Niall’s hand and lock their fingers together. His hand was warm and small in his own. It made him feel calm. At home. 

“You left last night,” Niall said suddenly, glancing over at Harry. His expression was neutral, despite the shake in his words. “Was it something I did?”

Harry felt an unpleasant warmth blanket over him. “Of course not,” He insisted. “It’s me…I’m just….nervous, about all of this, you know?”

Niall tugged on Harry’s hand a little, signaling for them to stop near a wall cutout by the coatroom. It was private, somewhat, and a large enough space that it didn’t feel claustrophobic. “I don’t understand, Harry. Help me out here. …Are you self conscious about your body? Is that it?”

Harry smirked at that. Niall hadn’t known him when he was a teenager, back when clothes were more of an uncomfortable nuisance for him than anything else. He didn’t mind them as much as an adult, but he still preferred the free feeling of being in nothing but his own skin. “No, that’s not it.” He finally replied.

“It’s gotta be something, Harry,” Niall stepped a little closer to him, eyes pleading now. “Open up to me. Just this once, okay?”

Harry thought about the way he’d felt when Liam grabbed his jaw earlier; hovered over him with eyes dilated to black and lust so thick in his voice it was barely more than a growl. He thought about how he hadn’t felt alive like that in nearly four years, and how he never wanted to feel anything else again. It was a drug to him. 

“It’s…” Harry chose his words carefully, watching Niall as he spoke. “It’s a lot, to deal with. Will be for you, if we start exploring this. I—won’t be able to stop. At least not at first. I don’t want to hurt you… emotionally or physically.”

“Fucking Christ, Harry,” Niall’s eyes had gone wide, and his cheeks were flushed beneath the skin. Harry watched as his lips parted, as he breathed out slow, mind whirring with what Harry had just said. It was mesmerizing.

“I love you, Niall.” He murmured, reaching up to trace along the line of his jaw. “Just know that, okay? You’re going to see a different side of me, and—I just don’t want to jeopardize what we have.”

“Harry—for god’s sake, shut your face.” Niall laughed breathlessly as he pressed in closer. “If I didn’t leave you when you told me you were celibate, I’m sure as hell not going to leave you because you want excessive amounts of sex.”

Harry grinned, feeling a cautious relief rise in his chest for the first time. “Yeah?”

“Yes, yes. Hurry up and fuck me already, Jesus,” Niall pressed his lips to Harry’s, hard. Open-mouthed, hot, biting, needing, so, so sexy. Harry was dizzy with it, barely able to keep his head on straight when Niall reached around his back and dug his fingers into the flesh there, dragging him forward. They half-walked, half stumbled into the coat closet that way, like some sort of terrible four-legged race. 

Harry lifted Niall up onto the barely-waist-high cubby shelf at the back of the room, tugging at the buttons of his boyfriend’s shirt without ever breaking the kiss. He was so hard he could cry, and Niall was already rubbing him through his jeans. 

With a bit of effort, Harry finally ripped Niall’s shirt away from his body and tossed it to the floor. There was a breathless grin on his face when he broke away from the kiss and grinned at him, already reaching down to fumble with the buckle of Niall’s belt. 

 

***

 

\----NIALL:----

 

“You ready?” Harry asked

Niall felt like he could explode with how ready he was. Like he could literally shoot himself into orbit with all the pent-up frustration he’d been suffering over the past 6 months. Seemed like Harry felt the same. 

Niall didn’t answer, only gripped Harry harder through his jeans and gave him a bit of a tug. The moan it elicited made Niall damn near whimper. 

Harry got his jeans undone in an impressive amount of time and motioned with his head for Niall to lift up so he could finish sliding them, along with his underwear, down his legs to drop with an unceremonious “thwump” on the ground. Harry kicked them out of the way and moved to stand between Niall’s legs, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of him; completely naked and wanting in front of him. “So fucking beautiful,” He muttered, pressing kisses along Niall’s shoulders and down over his chest, slowly urging him to lean back against the wall, leaving himself even more exposed. Harry gripped his thighs, spreading him apart inch by inch before stopping and looking up at him with wide eyes. “Shit, I don’t have any lube or anything, do you?”

Truthfully, ever since the night before, Niall had been thinking of nothing else but how much he wanted Harry to fuck him. He didn’t even remember the lessons he’d taught his students that afternoon; in the back of his mind, all day long, all he could think about was Harry’s sweaty body plowing into him from various positions, making him curse and moan, beg for it over and over again… It wasn’t a very productive day. 

“Yeah, I’ve got some.” Niall blushed a little as he pointed to his discarded jeans on the floor. “Bought it ages ago, and today I thought, maybe…”

“ _You little slut_ ,” Harry said slowly, a thrilling gleam in his eyes to match his grin. He leaned forward and kissed Niall quick on the lips before bending over to search for the lube. He was back in less than a couple seconds, already twisting off the cap. He spurted some into his hands then, rubbing it around a little before glancing up at Niall through his lashes. “You’ve done this before, right?”

 

“I had a boyfriend in high school for a little while.” Niall replied, thinking back. “Although I guess he wasn’t really my boyfriend; we were just fooling around… Anyway, yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Harry beamed, “Alright, so I won’t have to go gentle on you then,” He joked. “Lean back and open up for me, love.” 

 

***

 

Harry had one hand over Niall’s mouth and three fingers inside of him; twisting and pumping in and out, hitting his prostate and making Niall’s entire body tense and arch beneath him. His mind was white with pleasure, soaring high up with the deliciousness of it, incoherent thoughts tumbling over one another as Harry plunged another knuckle deeper. Niall felt like he might unravel completely at the seams from it all; Harry panting into his skin above him, so turned on he was practically crying out for it. 

“Do it,” Niall whispered, lips hot on the bright red curve of Harry’s ear. “I’m ready,”

And then there was devastating emptiness as Harry pulled his fingers away and used them to unbutton his jeans instead. Niall groaned when Harry backed up some, letting cool air settle between them as he dropped his clothes to the ground one by one. But a naked Harry was a beautiful sight. Slim; well-muscled; smooth skin and a flushed, angry erection that was dripping even as he took it in his hands, stroking it a few times before walking back over to Niall. 

“Gonna make you feel really good, baby,” Harry practically purred in Niall’s ear. He bit kisses along his neck, suddenly taking his time as he pressed the tip of his erection against Niall’s entrance; not going any further, just rubbing the head around the rim, working Niall up until he was near-sobbing out for it. “Say it,” Harry urged him, even though Niall had been whispering it on a fevered, near-incoherent loop. _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—_

Niall whimpered into Harry’s shoulder, more strung out than he’d ever been in his life.

“Say it,” Harry insisted. There was a grin in his voice, but when Niall didn’t reply, he moved himself away, leaving Niall gaping and empty, cool air breezing over his most sensitive parts. 

“Fuck, Harry!” Niall nearly shouted, sounding hysterical and on the verge of tears. Harry had been teasing for several minutes, reluctant to give in to any of his pleas. “FUCK ME. GODDAMMIT.”

And Harry must have been pleased with that, because he pushed into him then, moaning at the dragging, tight clench of Niall around him. It was loud—really loud, actually. And Niall felt his heart speed into overtime knowing that everyone walking by knew exactly what they were doing in there. 

“ _God_ —” Harry groaned, one hand on the wall behind Niall and the other clenched into a fist over his mouth. He was balls deep, and finally he began moving his hips with a bit of rhythm, small thrusts first, then longer, more powerful ones that had Niall clawing at Harry's back, cursing obscenely. To be filled up in that way, his body moving to hit the wall with every plunge, Niall couldn’t have asked for anything more.

They kissed wetly in between low moans and soft grunts of pleasure. Harry grinned against his mouth as he sped up, holding tight to Niall’s hips and fucking into him smooth and fast. When Niall began to shake and the whimper in the back of his throat reached an almost desperate pitch, Harry wrapped one of his hands around Niall’s neglected erection on his belly and stroked him off, allowing Niall to fuck up against his palm as he got close. 

“‘M gonna, ‘m gonna—fuck!” Niall came over his own chest, groaning at the ceiling as Harry milked him through the last of his orgasm. He was seeing stars; his eyesight gone hazy and white. “Harry...Harry...Harry...” He whispered against hot skin, kissing away the sweat at his boyfriend’s brow as his thrusts became rhythmless and erratic; skin slapping obscenely between them as Harry fought his way to release. 

Niall tangled his tired hands in Harry’s hair, urging him on. “Come on baby,” He whispered. “Almost there—want to feel you come inside me…”

“Fuck,” Harry half-grunted, half-moaned and pressed his forehead hard against Niall’s, freezing as he spilled into him pulse after pulse. He cursed again, kissing Niall hotly on the lips before pulling out. He was still semi-hard, wet with slick and cum. Niall gasped as he felt some of it spill out of him, dribbling down his leg and leaking onto the carpet. He was thoroughly and inarguably fucked, and he loved the feeling. 

“You okay?” Harry asked, coming closer to swipe his thumb over Niall’s cheek. He was smiling; full, dimpled, glittery-eyed. He kissed Niall’s nose and then made his way down to his lips again, barely pulling away long enough to allow a reply. 

“Never been better,” Niall supplied, grinning so hard he felt like it might split his face. 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed, licking into his mouth again, sucking on Niall’s bottom lip until it was plump and sensitive. “…Wanna go again?”


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall and Harry can barely keep their hands to themselves, Harry meets someone new, and Louis has relationship issues.

——HARRY:—— 

Once you start touching, it’s hard to stop. 

Harry’s fingers ticked against his thigh as he stood and tried to pay attention to the conversation going on around him. He and Niall had slipped out of the coatroom about an hour and a half ago, shirts askew, flies halfway-zipped, wiping the dampness of a last kiss from their lips. It was time for the Gala, and they’d missed most of the preparation work, so they snuck off to change out of their street clothes--Niall had remembered to bring Harry’s suit along, thank god--cheeks flushing under the scrutinizing gazes of the people they passed in the halls.

But Harry could still feel the phantom burns of Niall’s fingertips, lighting up along his skin, drawing his focus away from the room. He was still riding the high of it; the exhilaration of watching his boyfriend fall apart for him, the two of them needing it just as badly. His brain was in a fog. But a nice one. He smiled, a small, secret little upturn of his lips.

Niall slipped his hand into Harry’s, pulling him out of his thoughts. The light from the chandeliers above them were dazzling; far too bright, catching on the champagne glasses and the silver platters of food that had yet to be served. Harry followed them with his eyes as he watched the staff hurry to put everything in place for dinner. There was live music playing too, from somewhere he couldn’t see, the vibrating hum of a violin following the melody of an unfamiliar song. 

“Okay, well it was nice speaking to you. I’ll have to take you up on that round of golf sometime,” Niall was saying, waving as the two older couples he’d been chatting with wandered off towards the banquet hall. Niall had always been good at networking; he was sweet and charming and people loved him. He turned to Harry when their company was gone, a question in his eyes, softened by the small smile he couldn’t seem to keep off of his face. “Everything okay, Haz? You’ve been really quiet.”

Harry let go of Niall’s hand and settled his own around Niall’s waist, gripping a little harder than necessary. He let his thumb wander, grazing the skin of his side through the material of the suit jacket. “Wanna get out of here,” He muttered against the top of Niall’s head.

Niall took in a shaky breath and lifted his lips to just beside Harry’s jaw to speak. “Me too. But Louis’ worked so hard on this…we can’t just leave.”

Harry had expected that to be the reply, but he still sighed, a bit dramatically, and reluctantly pulled away from the warmth of Niall’s body. “Okay. You’re right.” Harry leaned in for a kiss, but chickened out at the last moment. It was silly, being nervous about something trivial like that after all they’d just done. But Harry was still getting used to the freedom of it. Kept reminding himself he didn’t need to hold back anymore. “I, um… I think I’m gonna go get some air.”

 

The cold cut into his skin the moment he walked out the door onto the front walkway. It was unforgiving, even through the layers of his suit, and Harry found himself rubbing his hands together, blowing a few breaths into them to feel a bit of warmth. 

“It’s supposed to drop down to below freezing, tonight.” 

“Ha. Feels way colder than that already,” Harry huffed, turning around to see who’d spoken. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him under thick lashes. “Hi—um—I’m Harry,” He blurted, and he had no idea why. He just couldn’t take his eyes off the stranger’s face, letting his gaze trail along the sharp jawline covered in stubble, the plump pink lips, and a set of dangerous cheekbones that caught the warm yellow glow coming through the windows. Harry stared unabashedly for a few moments, before he remembered himself and glanced away, a blush on his cheeks that he hoped was mistaken for the chill in the air. 

The stranger smiled at Harry’s nervousness while he himself maintained an almost inhuman calm. His hands were steady and unhurried as he gave his cigarette a pull and blew out a visible stream of smoke. “Hi Harry,” He said simply, a grin lighting across his face, making his eyes glitter. “I’m Z.”

An awkward silence fell between them after that, with Z giving his cigarette another pull and Harry blowing weak puffs of hot air into his hands. Cold as it was, he was tired of the bright lights and boring conversation inside, so he shuffled a little closer to Z, for the first time noticing what he was wearing. “You’re not dressed up. Are you here for the Gala, or something else?” Harry glanced over at Z’s ripped jeans, scuffed Doc Marten’s, and heavy black leather jacket pulled over a dark red hoodie. He had a loose knit beanie on his head, adjusted to let nothing but a few strands of dark hair peak out of the front. 

Z looked down at his clothes, too, as if he’d forgotten them. Then he turned his gaze back to Harry, a small grin on his face. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, to be honest.” He admitted. 

Harry laughed unexpectedly. A quick little breathless giggle. “Me either, really. Kinda promised a friend I’d come. It’s not really my type of crowd.”

“Nah. Look at you. You belong in there with all of them, living it up.” Z dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out before turning to Harry and gesturing to the brand new black suit Niall had bought him just a few weeks earlier—in retrospect, Harry supposed it had probably been meant for him to wear at the Gala all along. 

Z didn’t know about Niall, though. Didn’t know Harry already belonged to someone else. So when he shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it on Harry’s shoulder’s, promising it would keep him warm…it was easy, sweet even. Because Z didn’t know, and Harry didn’t tell him. He just pulled the jacket closer around himself, indulging in the heaviness of the material and the soft, almost furry liner along the inside.

“You can keep it,” Z said after a while, once Harry had stopped shivering and instead was just huddling inside the jacket, letting his curls slip down under the collar to shield his neck from the wind. “It was the wrong size, anyway. Looks better on you.”

Incredulous, Harry shook his head and prepared to protest, but people who looked like Z had a way of being persuasive. All it took was one of those soft, glittery-eyed smiles to cut Harry off at the knees and shut him up. 

“Consider it a gift,” Z suggested, lighting a second cigarette as he spoke. “One of those Random Acts of Kindness, you know?”

“Okay… um, thank you.” Harry replied, frowning. He felt a flutter in his stomach; innocent enough at first, then deepening into something else the longer he stared at Z’s puffy pink lips and the dark stubble along his cheeks. Z just stared at him, blowing out smoke again. And after a while, Harry looked up to meet his eyes. 

There was a loud ding, then. Loud enough that Harry startled a bit, letting out a small gasp before fumbling to retrieve his phone from his pocket. Niall had texted him, asking where he was. Harry felt his heart drop out of his ass at that, and he snapped out of the trance he’d been in. Like he’d been fucking hypnotized or something. 

“I can’t keep this, I’m sorry.” He took the jacket off his shoulders, folded it over once, and handed it to Z, who took it, brows furrowed slightly. “It was very nice meeting you…but I have to go now.”

Harry said the words as he backed away, feeling a little better about himself with every step he took. Z just kind of smiled. Even offered a wave. “See you later, Harry.” He said, going back to his smoke as calm as ever, like he really believed they’d see each other again. Doubtful. 

When Harry slid into a seat beside Niall at the dinner table reserved for them, he tried not to seem anxious or out of breath. “Hey,” He greeted him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Sorry about that.”

Clearly, Niall had already made friends with the champagne, because Harry could smell it on his breath as he spoke, grinning wide when he met Harry’s eyes. “Hey there. They’re about to serve dinner in a minute. Steak maybe. I think… Fuck, this Pinot Grigio is fantastic.”

Harry laughed, feeling a thousand times lighter as he watched Niall down the rest of his glass and hum loudly along with the live band playing in the corner of the room. “I love you,” He murmured, more to himself than Niall. And he meant it. He loved Niall, more than anything, and he wouldn’t fuck it up this time.

Harry leaned back in his chair, taking in the scene around him for a moment. Almost everyone who’d been standing out in the front hall had found their way into the banquet hall and, much like Niall, they were taking advantage of the free champagne. A lot of talking and laughing and faces flush from the alcohol. Most of the tables were full by now, but Harry and Niall were the only people at theirs.

“Where is everybody?” Harry asked.

“Uh…” Niall glanced around for a minute before giving up and shrugging. “Louis went off looking for his boyfriend… said Boyfriend is missing, obviously. And, uh… Liam… I don’t even think he showed up. Neither did his plus-one Sophia. Again, obviously.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered, pressing his lips together. “Poor Louis. Some support system he’s got.”

“Hey, we’re still here, aren’t we?” Niall held out his fist with a grin, and Harry bumped it, laughing. 

“Right. That we are.” He agreed. And then their food arrived, and neither of them felt much like talking anymore. 

 

***

 

About thirty minutes later, in the middle of the main course and a quarter of the way through the night’s speeches, Louis trudged into the banquet hall, dressed in a well-fitting dark blue suit, eyes bloodshot and cast down towards the floor. He didn’t say anything; barely acknowledged that Niall and Harry were there. He just waved a waiter over and grabbed two glasses of champagne for himself before downing them both. 

 

 ***

——NIALL:—— 

 

LATER THAT NIGHT

 

Niall liked the faces Harry made when he fucked him. His mouth fell open a little, like he wanted to moan or curse or cry out, but just couldn’t get it out. Like his entire body was so moved by the pleasure of it that his words got trapped up inside him, and Niall had to coax them out. 

Harry had him backed against the wall of the shower, hands locked on his ass, spreading him open and holding him up at the same time while he thrust into him at a steady pace. The hot, open-mouthed kisses he trailed along Niall’s shoulders and up his neck mixed with the shower water, beaded up and rolled away, only to be replaced with another and another. Niall held the back of Harry’s head, rubbed his back and whispered things into his ear that got him groaning out loud, losing his rhythm for a moment or two before picking up speed, plowing into Niall’s prostate until his eyes were rolling back into his head and he could barely remember his own name. 

Harry gasped when he finally came, several minutes after Niall was already spent, holding onto Harry for dear life and biting his lip against the intense sensitivity he was feeling. Harry was literally shaking as he spilled into him, knees wobbling until he pulled out and they both kind of just sunk down to sit on the floor of the shower, dropping their heads to avoid the hard-pelting water droplets. Niall watched as some of Harry’s cum slid lazily down the drain, while the rest flowed out from between his legs like a thin white river before getting washed away by the water. 

Niall’s head was fogged up, swimming, thoughts floating in and out of his awareness like changing colors in a kaleidoscope. He was conscious of Harry’s heavy head resting on his, of soaking curls sticking to his face, dripping down over his cheeks. A big, wet hand pressed into his arm, holding him close. And the constant drum of water droplets from the shower head continued to be the only sound aside from Harry’s breathing and his own. 

In that moment, a memory came to him. Slow, blurring into his mind with all of the burn of the day it happened. 

It was one evening months ago when Niall walked in through the front door of the house feeling like death warmed over, eyes watering, barely holding himself together. He was upset over something—he couldn’t remember what it was, and it didn’t matter. He was raw on the inside, emotionally stripped bare, and he found Harry in the kitchen. Standing there, biting into an apple, eyes downturned as he shuffled through the day’s mail. He only caught a glimpse of Niall out of the corner of his eye before Niall was wrapped around him, burrowed against his chest, squeezing so hard he heard the bones in Harry’s back crackle. Something in his mind kept telling him he was alone, and the thought was getting harder and harder to ignore, so he held onto Harry with everything he had, needing to feel needed. Wanted. Desired. 

Before Harry could catch up to him, Niall was kissing him, letting his hands roam up Harry’s chest and down around his hips. Breathing hot into his mouth, near crushing him like the force of it would make him feel it, make him want to kiss Niall back. 

Only he didn’t. He pushed Niall away like he’d been burned. Wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Stared at Niall like he was some sort of stranger, some nobody off the street who’d pulled him into a kiss. And then he just… walked away. 

Niall almost left that day. He remembered packing his bags; dragging his clothes from the closet so loud the neighbor’s dog started barking. Tears streaming down his face, stinging his cheeks. Rage ripping through his chest, threatening to split him open. And Harry never came upstairs. Never even checked to see if he was okay. Niall almost left. Because he felt like Harry would never really want him the way he wanted Harry, and for the first time he felt like that wasn’t enough for him anymore… But he stayed. Slept in bed on top of the clothes he’d ripped off their hangars. And in the morning, Harry was lying by his side. 

“You’re quiet, babe,” Harry murmured, bringing him out of his thoughts. They were out of the shower, dried off, and burrowed under the covers in their bed. Harry was looking at him with a frown on his face.

Niall blinked a couple times, dragging himself out of the past. “I’m fine,” He murmured.

Harry didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say so. Just reached up to run his thumb along Niall’s jaw, swiping back and forth in a way that made his skin hum. “I like it when you touch me,” Niall said. It was blunt and honest and he wasn’t really sure why he’d said it, but he didn’t take it back either. 

A slow smile split across Harry’s face, dimpling his cheeks. “I like touching you.”

Niall felt his own lips twitch up, and this feeling just overwhelmed him suddenly, looking at Harry. Those wide green eyes and the curls twisting down along his face, barely dry. “I’ve wanted to be touched by you for such a long time.”

Harry’s smile faltered a little, until it was gone completely. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Niall said, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to. “It’s not your fault. I just… don’t want this to stop.” Niall scooted a little closer to Harry, emphasizing his words by reaching down between them to take Harry’s dick in his hand. He stroked him a couple times, feeling him thicken in his palm. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed into Niall’s hair, wrapping one of his arms around his waist to hold him close. 

Harry rutted up into Niall’s grip, moaning soft and low. When Niall ran his thumb over the slit at the head of his dick, Harry hissed and arched his back. Gorgeous. Completely gorgeous. 

“Can I—I wanna try something, okay?” Niall stuttered out suddenly, glancing at Harry to see his reaction. 

He frowned, but nodded, giving Niall the freedom to do what he wanted. “Just don’t give me a raspberry or something.” He mumbled, a small smile on his lips as he relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes. 

Niall snorted and shook his head. “Am I your boyfriend or your mother?” 

At that, a laugh bubbled up from Harry’s chest, short and giggly, like he was surprised by it. It was Niall’s favorite. 

He moved down the bed to nudge himself between Harry’s legs, spreading him open further with his hands placed on the inside of his thighs. “Okay,” He huffed, more to himself than to Harry. He reached over to the bedside table to grab the lube, then drizzled some over his fingers before pressing the tip of his index to Harry’s rim. 

“Fuck, Ni—” Harry sighed, squirming a bit in anticipation. It gave Niall the confidence he needed to play a little more; tracing the muscle, dipping his finger in to one knuckle, then two, before adding in another digit altogether. Harry was hot, and so tight Niall had to fight to pull his fingers back on the withdrawal. “More,” Harry panted out, impatiently grinding down against Niall’s hand. His face was flushed and glistening in a layer of sweat. Eyes closed, teeth gritted against the moans spilling out. When Niall added another finger and grazed Harry’s prostate, his entire body gave a shutter of pleasure. 

Niall hit the spot again and again, thrusting his fingers in, scissoring and twisting them until Harry was crying out, nearly ripping the sheets with the vise-like grip he had on them. “I’m gonna… fuck… I’m gonna come…” He whimpered, hips bucking up into the air. Niall reached for Harry’s dick then, stroked him off while continuing to fuck into him with his fingers. Harry came hard, his moan starting off loud and guttural before dissolving into scattered, breathless sobs. 

“Christ—” Niall choked, pulling his fingers out and sitting back to look at the mess Harry had made all over himself. 

“Babe,” Harry mumbled, making grabby hands at Niall until he settled down into his arms, smearing cum over them both. 

“That was so hot,” Niall kissed Harry’s neck and ear and temple, still drunk off the sight of him, lying completely fucked out with cum splattered across his tattoos. And Harry started kissing him back, until their lips met and they were working each other up again, lying as close as possible, Harry grinding up against Niall while Niall parted Harry’s legs with his knee. 

It would have gone further, but Niall’s phone rang, and he glanced over at it to see that it was Louis calling for the second time within the hour. 

“I should answer,” Niall muttered, breaking the kiss and staring miserably at the screen lit up with Louis’ cross-eyed smile. 

Harry gave a little huff of protest and pulled Niall to his chest again, pressing their lips together for a few extra seconds before Niall sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Call him back in the morning,” Harry grumbled, voice raspy and fucked out. Somehow, he was already hard again, poking up against Niall’s thigh. Distractedly, Niall palmed him for a moment, and Harry rolled his head back onto the pillows. 

“I feel like such a bad friend. He just got dumped and here I am ignoring his calls…”

Harry sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “We stayed with him all night. At the Gala…when we left the Gala… when he asked us to come home with him… I love Louis, but we’re not his nannies.”

Niall smiled a little at that, rolling off of Harry to lie beside him instead. “We’d probably still be there, if it were up to him.”

Harry chuckled and hugged Niall closer, fingertips splayed over his side. They were quiet for a little while, before Harry spoke up again. “What kind of asshole dumps somebody at a fancy event like that?”

Niall huffed and shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. Never seen the guy.”

“Louis must have been really into him. Been a long time since I’ve seen him this upset.”

“Mmhm,” Niall hummed against Harry’s chest. “Well at least the Gala raised a lot of money. Like 60 grand, I think. And it’s all going to the children’s Hospital.”

“Sweet,” Harry smiled lazily, his eyes fluttering to stay open. 

But Niall wasn’t sleepy, and he kept talking, murmuring into Harry’s salty skin. “Liam didn’t even show. That’s not like him.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a while, and then, “I tried calling him…but he won’t answer.”

“He’s probably just moping. He’ll come around in a couple days, he always does.”

Harry nodded slowly, then yawned. “Yeah. Probably.”

“I’m taking some time off from work—did I tell you?” Niall said abruptly, his mind still buzzing, unable to shut itself down. “This next week’s just gonna be me and you.” He grinned and kissed along Harry’s chest until he came to his nipple, giving it a little tug with his teeth that had Harry hissing. 

“You keep tugging my nips like that and we might need to just run away together.” Harry murmured through a smile. “I’m glad I have you all to myself.”

Niall moved from Harry’s nipple to suck the skin along his collarbone, moaning softly. “I want you to fuck me until my knees stop working.”

Harry laughed at that one, startling Niall into laughing along with him. “Jesus, Ni,” He said once he’d caught his breath. “Just let me know if it ever gets to be too much for you, okay? Promise me?”

Niall looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. “Till my knees stop working,” He insisted.

Harry stared at him, mouth tweaking up in a tiny smirk. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve only got one good knee left.”

“Fuck off,” Niall laughed.

“I’d rather fuck you.”

Niall sucked in a breath, feeling a grin split across his face. “Do you know I love you, so much?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, not bothering to fight against his own exhaustion anymore. He gave a small smile, tugging Niall in a little closer. “I love you, too. So much.” He said. And Niall was satisfied with that.


	8. Home (Part 2)

——HARRY:——

 

Two and a half months later

Harry was decorating the Christmas tree when Niall came home. Or trying to. He’d strung the white lights around the middle of it and watched it light up their living room when he plugged it in, the silver and blue ornaments he’d hung on it gleaming. He’d spread the skirt out on the bottom and made sure the tree was positioned just so in the front window so that it could be seen from the street, glittering like only Christmas trees could.

It was perfect. Except Harry’d broken the glass angel that was meant to go on top—dropped it on the hardwood to shatter into a thousand pieces. So when Niall walked in the door yelling, Harry flinched, assuming it was directed at him.

“You promised to drive them to the airport!” Niall barked into his phone as he came in, kicking his boots off and walking off to the kitchen without even glancing at the tree. He dropped his shopping bags on the kitchen table in a heap as he continued his argument. “You always do this! You always back out last minute— _hello?_ ”

“Hey babe,” Harry said warily, walking up to him where he stood by the stove. “Everything alright?”

“My cousin bailed on me.” Niall shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He was supposed to be driving my parents to the airport on Thursday, but now he suddenly has a prior commitment. I’ve spent two weeks preparing for them to come; if they can’t make it because of him, I’m gonna blow a fuse.”

“Hmm.” Harry nodded, wanting to comfort Niall, say something supportive. But he’d hardly been listening; too busy staring at the veins in Niall’s hands, and the way his skin flexed over the bone and tendons. His knees felt a little weak as he thought about where he’d like Niall’s hands to be at that very moment. 

Harry stepped a little closer, pressed a kiss to Niall’s temple, then three more along the side of his face. He was already hard. Had been hard for days, leaking into his boxer briefs, straining against the unforgiving fabric of his skinny jeans.

“Harry.”

It stung the way he said it; like he was chastising a child who forgot to brush their teeth before bed.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Harry swiped a hand through his hair, felt the way his fingers were literally trembling. “I miss you.”

“We talked about this.”

Four days ago, in their bedroom. Harry remembered it. The night he’d been so wound up he could barely stand it; nearly going out of his mind staring at a blank document on his laptop, unable to write a damned thing because he was waiting for Niall to come home all day. He’d pushed his pants down around his ankles and jacked off in his office chair twice just thinking about Niall’s lips. When Niall finally got home, Harry couldn’t even wait for him to take his coat off before he was pressing him up against the wall, moaning a kiss into his mouth, palming his boyfriend through the front of his jeans. They fucked three times that night; Niall topping once, Harry twice. It was ten o’ clock at night when Harry finally came that last time, half shouting, half sobbing out the more-pain-than-pleasure release onto Niall’s back. 

But Niall’s eyes were wet when he looked at harry afterwards. Tears streaming down his cheeks, wetting the pillows. _Did I hurt you?_ Harry’d asked frantically, already flying into a panic. But Niall shook his head. 

_I just can’t do this right now._

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, his mind back in the kitchen with Niall again, feeling a desperation in his gut that seemed to grow more insistent with every passing second. “But I didn’t realize you wanted to stop completely… I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Niall pushed past him, into the living room. Harry followed. “I just don’t want to have sex right now. Stop trying to pressure me into it.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. “ _Is that what you think I’m doing?_ ” He shook his head, incredulous. “I just—” In all honesty, Harry didn’t know what he was trying to do. He just wanted things to be right between them again. Niall had been acting strange for days, and he’d barely looked at Harry, let alone opened up to him.

“Sometimes ’no’ is enough, okay?” Niall suddenly whirled around, his back to the tree. There were tears in his eyes again. “I heard you tell me ‘no’ hundreds of times.”

“Is that was this is about? Are you still holding that against me?” Harry asked, barking out a hard laugh. “I’ve said sorry a thousand times, what more do you want?”

Niall wouldn’t meet his eyes. He turned around and started fussing with a few of the ornaments on the Christmas tree until he caught sight of the angel. Or rather, the broken pieces of the angel, lying in shards on the coffee table. He sunk down to his knees in front of it, and carefully picked up the jagged glass in his hands, as if it might break even further.

“This angel has been in my family for fifty years,” He whispered.

“Niall—” Harry felt his stomach drop. All of his anger evaporating as he watched Niall scrub his face with the back of his sleeve. “Niall, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—” He tried to walk over to him, but Niall was already standing, taking the glass shards with him as he climbed the stairs, his back to Harry. 

 

***

 

October 31st, Halloween Night

 

“Where’s your spinach?” Harry bumped Niall’s hip with his own as they walked up to the front porch. “You can’t be Popeye without your spinach.” He grinned wide then, extremely pleased with the exasperated eye roll he got in reply. 

“If you don’t have to wear a dress to be Olive Oil, then I don’t have to carry around a can of spinach to be Popeye,” Niall bit down on the plastic pipe in his mouth and tilted his lips up in a smirk. 

Harry chuckled and leaned in for a kiss then, but changed his mind at the last second and tipped his sailor hat forward over his eyes. Niall frowned, pushed it back. 

“Just know that if I had worn a dress, it would knock your socks off, Sailor Man.” Harry breathed a giggle against Niall’s cheek, and smoothed his hands down the sides of his own black skinny jeans with a tempting flutter at his thighs. Harry had on a sheer, ruffled red button down instead, with nothing underneath and the front undone to the top of his butterfly tattoo. But Niall licked his lips as he looked at him, cheeks flushing a deep pink as his imagination clearly got the better of him. 

They rang the doorbell. 

“Hm…let me guess…” Liam greeted them a few moments later with a small smile on his face. “Popeye… and Captain Jack….”

Harry frowned. Then cursed and pulled the hairband off his wrist he’d been saving. “Hold on!” He chirped, wrestling with his curls. Niall and Liam waited with amused grins on their faces as he finally tied a messy bun at the back of his head. 

“Oh look, it’s Olive Oil, what a lovely surprise,” Liam chuckled. He stepped aside to let them into the house then.

Both Harry and Niall’s faces dropped when they looked around. Sure they’d shown up an hour early to help decorate, but so far it looked more like a fall harvest celebration than a Halloween party. 

“Liam, mate…” Niall poked at a smiling scarecrow by the front table, trying not to wrinkle his nose. “What’s, um… what’s going on here?”

Liam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He means, this party is an absolute travesty.” Louis appeared next to Harry, seemingly out of nowhere, already sizzling like a firecracker. “I mean, honestly Payno, is this a pumpkin? _Just a pumpkin? _Where’s the scary face?” Louis nudged the fat pumpkin by the door with his foot and shook his head sadly.__

“Oh, um,” Liam still had his work clothes on, and he looked like a distressed dad, tugging at the rolled up cuffs of his crisp white shirt. “Sophia’s doesn’t like much scary stuff, so we decided to just—”

“Sophia likes scary stuff plenty.” Morticia Addams floated down the stairs behind Liam, a vision of black lace and powdered skin. She raised an eyebrow at him as she reached his side, crossing her slim arms over her chest. “Sophia,” she continued, “does not love it when her boyfriend lies to look good in front of his friends.”

Harry, Louis, and Niall provided a resounding _‘oooh’_ as Liam grinned nervously. “You look beautiful.” He tried.

“Shut up and go get dressed, Gomez. I wanna see you in those pinstripes.” Sophia smirked and tugged Liam in by his necktie to kiss him. When she pulled away again, Liam was blushing furiously. “Harry? Would you help him out with his costume? He’s hopeless.”

Harry’s vision went out of focus for a moment, and suddenly his pulse was thudding in his ears like tribal drums. “Oh, um—” He and Liam hadn’t been alone together in over a week. Never even discussed what happened in Liam’s office that afternoon before the Gala. They never said a word about it, and a few days later, Sophia took Liam back, returning things to normal. Almost.

“It’s okay, really.” Liam said, too quickly. “I’m sure you could use his help down here.”

“No, absolutely not.” Sophia snorted and pushed Liam and Harry towards the stairs. “He’s even worse at scary than you are. The further out of my way the two of you stay, the better. With any luck, by the time you come back down, this place will actually look like an adult halloween party.”

“But—”

“ _Goodbye Liam._ ”

 

***

 

Liam’s room was enormous, and minimally decorated. Just a bed against the center wall, black sheets, black headboard. A bookshelf here, a flatscreen there. And that was about it, so there wasn’t much to look at besides one another. 

“Okay, so.” Liam scratched at the back of his head while Harry crossed his arms over his chest. Both of them trying and failing not to remember the way Liam’d looked at him the last time they were alone—like he’d die if he didn’t touch his skin. 

“Liam,” Harry said, working to keep his voice calm. “I’m sorry. For leading you on, before. That was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Liam’s jaw was clenched into a hard line, and he wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “No, I’m the one who should have stopped it. I know you have a problem, but I…” Liam breathed in, sharp, like he could barely get the words out. “I gave into you anyway.” 

_He gave into wanting me. Wanting to fuck me until I cried out for it._ The thoughts came into Harry’s mind before he could stop them. _He probably wants to fuck me right now._

“Sophia’s back now,” Liam continued, finally meeting Harry’s gaze. “…and I just want things to go back to the way they were between us.” Liam said. 

“Me too.” It came out as nearly a whisper, Harry trying hard to will away the phantom of Liam’s hands on his hips. To remember he was with Niall, and Niall meant the world to him. _Niall, Niall, Niall_. He imagined Niall’s hands instead, Niall’s mouth biting a trail up his neck, leaving bruises on his skin. It worked, and Harry found himself letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“Good,” Liam smiled then, really smiled. He reached out like he was going to pat Harry on the back, but then thought better of it, extending his hand instead. They shook, a little awkwardly, and that was that. Liam went into the closet, dressed in his purple-pinstriped Gomez Adams suit, and when he returned, Harry almost gave himself a hernia laughing. 

 

***

 

The party ended up being a success, despite how it started out. Sophia actually had an eye for decorating, and when Liam and Harry came back downstairs, there were cobwebs strung over the windows, skeletons hanging out of closets, and dry ice sublimating into a ghostly smoke that hovered above the floor. The lights were dimmed, and a bass-heavy song pounded through unseen speakers. People were already starting to filter in through the front door, dressed as dead cheerleaders and wizards and bars of candy. Most of Liam’s colleagues—other doctors that worked in his building—simply threw a stethoscope around their neck or donned a lab coat. 

“What are you dressed as?” Harry asked one of them, if only to be polite.

“General practitioner,”

“Oh…you dressed up as yourself.” He laughed.

“No, I’m really a psychiatrist.”

After about an hour of mingling and dancing and drinking, Harry started to feel a bit antsy. He’d had a few shots, and his body was buzzing with energy and excitement and maybe something else. He found Niall by the food table, spearing a meatball with his fork.

“Babe,” Harry reached around to grab Niall’s waist, squeezed. He leaned into him, breathing hot air onto the tufts of blonde hair peeking out from beneath his sailor’s hat. “ _Babe,_ ”

Niall giggled. “Stop it, that tickles.” He swatted half-heartedly at Harry’s hand, but turned to him anyway, already grinning. “Where’ve you been hiding out?”

Harry shrugged, stole a meatball off of Niall’s plate to pop into his mouth. “I wanna blow you,”

Niall nearly choked on a cheese cube. “Here?” He blushed bright pink, his eyes dancing around the room.

Harry felt something spark within him, like striking a match. He gripped tighter at Niall’s waist, then leaned down to whisper along the shell of his ear. “I’d do it in front of all these people. Just want you in my mouth.”

“Jesus,” Niall moaned it, setting down his plate with trembling fingers and reaching for Harry’s hip. 

“Do you want that?” Harry worked his way up Niall’s neck with little kitten licks, grinning in between as Niall shivered visibly. “Wanna fuck into my mouth in front of all these people?”

Niall was panting, his skin hot to the touch. “Fuck—yes.” He nodded, so Harry pulled him into the kitchen. 

 

The kitchen was empty, miraculously, and the only light was coming from a bit of flickering candlelight here and there. Harry wasted no time grabbing Niall by his hips and positioning him in front of the island, his back to the entryway. Niall’s whole body was trembling with anticipation under Harry’s fingertips as he dropped to his knees and fumbled impatiently with Niall’s belt buckle.

“Wait,” Niall gasped suddenly, reaching out to dig his fingers into Harry’s hair suddenly. “Babe, wait—”

Harry heard himself make a pathetic sound of protest in the back of his throat. He glanced up at Niall, practically begging for it with his mouth already hanging open, tongue licking across his lips obscenely. 

“Fucking hell—” Niall whimpered, but he shook his head. “Not here,” He managed, gently pushing Harry’s hands away. 

Harry blinked up at him slowly, frowned. “But you want to,” He breathed, pressing his nose to the line of fabric over Niall’s crotch. “You want this,”

Niall groaned, low and guttural. “Yes, but—not now, okay?” He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone would walk in at any moment. They very well could. When his gaze returned to Harry, his eyes were apologetic and scared, pupils blown wide with arousal. “Let’s go home.”

 

***

 

November 8th

 

Harry hummed as Niall ran a hand through his loose, silky curls. He was clean and warm in flannel pajama pants and his favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt, just the right amount of sleepy as he rested his head in Niall’s lap. There was a fire going in the fireplace, and the house was quiet under the blanket of the first snowfall outside. They’d spent the earlier part of the day ice skating on a makeshift rink in the local park, Harry falling more often than he stayed on his feet. Niall was a natural at it, maddeningly, despite only doing it one other time. They’d both returned home ruddy-cheeked and thoroughly worn out, with only enough energy left in them to share a quick shower, dress, and collapse in a heap of tired limbs on the living room couch. 

“Ni?” Harry asked quietly, waiting until he heard his boyfriend’s soft grunt in reply. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“Sure, Haz, what’s on your mind?” Niall smiled at him sweetly as Harry shuffled his body back into a sitting position, resting his head on top of Niall’s and curling close. 

“I just wanted to say thank you… for being so cool about all of this.” Harry said, careful with his words as always. He fidgeted with his fingers, casting his eyes down instead of meeting Niall’s gaze. “You’ve never judged me…for any of it.”

Niall reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand. “‘Course not. I love you, and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Harry felt himself smile. _I love you so much,_ he thought. But instead, he said, “…there’s more, though. Things I’ve been wanting to try…but I didn’t know how you’d react.” His voice was small, barely above a whisper as he looked at Niall. “I understand if you don’t want to. But—”

“What is it, babe?” Niall frowned. 

Harry bit his lip worriedly. “I have this, uh, drawer of…things…and…”

To Harry’s surprise, Niall’s eyes lit up. “You wanna use them?”

Harry felt his pulse throb in his neck just at the thought. He nodded quickly, a curl bouncing along his face. “Please.”

 

Without much deliberation, Harry reached into his drawer with damp palms and retrieved a long blue box. Just the anticipation of it alone had Harry’s heart fluttering. He had to bite down on his lip just to keep from letting out any unwarranted sounds. 

“That the one?” They’d moved to the bedroom, and Niall was already lying on his back in the bed when Harry returned. He took the box and looked down at it, carefully opening it up as Harry climbed into bed beside him. It was a long blue vibrator, rounded at the top and flared at the end. Harry’s favorite one to use when Niall wasn’t around. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of it, and Niall heard him, a smirk twitching at the edges of his lips. 

“There’s a remote,” Harry said quickly, his cheeks flushing. “Um, it’s in the box.”

Niall shook the little black remote out of the box and held it in his hand, examining it. “It’s manually controlled,” Niall said, eyebrows raising. Then he looked at Harry, his eyes glazing over with lust and something else. “Do you use this a lot?” His voice cracked.

_No, not that much,_ Harry wanted to say. _Just a couple times a day, every single fucking day._ Instead, he just nodded.

Niall clicked a button on the remote, and the vibrator started buzzing; slow, evenly-spaced hums. Harry used that setting when he wanted to tease himself, draw out his orgasm until his limbs felt like jell-o, and he was biting into his own arm to choke back his sobs. The next setting was medium. A little quicker than the first, with shorter, more potent bursts that drove Harry crazy when he used it. Pleasure hitting him like a wave with every blip of vibration. He couldn’t drive on that setting, could barely walk without stopping to lean against a wall and catch his breath. The last setting, high, sounded like an angry swarm of bees was suddenly inhabiting their bedroom when Niall turned it on. 

“Jesus,” He said, dropping it into his lap. It hummed forcibly, the entire device trembling wildly through long, aggressive buzzes. Harry’d only used that setting once before, and it had punched his orgasm out of him in less than five minutes, gasping and crying out, lying completely useless at the mercy of it. It was mind-blowing, but terrifying. “Which setting do you want to use?” Niall finally asked, clicking the off button and looking over at Harry.

Harry took the now-still vibrator from Niall’s lap and slowly slid down the waistband of his sweats until he was able to kick them to the floor. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath them, which made Niall whimper a little in his throat. Harry tossed his shirt onto a chair across the room and rummaged through the bedside table for the lube. When he found it, he looked over at Niall and smirked. “Whichever one you want me to feel,”

 

Harry gasped out, biting down hard on his pillow, barely muffling a high whimper. The pleasure came in an almost unbearable wave, then passed slowly before returning again, just as strong. The vibrator was on medium, and Harry was lying face down on the bed, putting on a show. “Niall,” He moaned, rutting down into the duvet with his desperation. Niall was still beside him, silent save for his breathing—slow but unmistakably fucked, rasping and choking off at random places as Harry writhed before him. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move, but Harry knew he was loving every second of it. He could feel the want rolling off of his body, he knew the effect he was having, and it was like a drug to him. “Niall!” He whined louder, thighs trembling as the vibrator came to life again, pulsing deliciously against his prostate. Harry fucked down harder into the covers, back arching, sweat beading up between his shoulder blades. “‘M gonna…’m gonna…” He sobbed through it, spurting over and over until he was drained, quivering with sensitivity, a wet spot blossoming beneath his belly. 

Harry heard a click as Niall pressed the off button on the remote. He made a pathetic sound of protest as Niall pulled the vibrator out, leaving him stretched and cold. That was it for a while; just Harry lying there, sprawled open and completely fucked out, face down in the pillows. But then he felt soft lips at the nape of his neck, trailing down his spine. “So beautiful, babe.” Niall muttered the words into his skin, fast and mildly incoherent. “So fucking gorgeous.”

And Harry couldn’t help but smile, because he knew he had him then.

 

***

 

November 14th

 

Harry’s skin was burning with it—the need, the desperation of his own flesh to be touched, teased, pleasured—and he just couldn’t wait for Niall to get home that day. Felt like he’d crawl out of his skin without Niall’s lips pressed to his and Niall’s hair tangled through his own fingers. _Meet me for lunch to get your mind off of it,_ Liam had suggested. And Harry’d smiled, because they hadn’t done lunch in ages, and he missed Liam. But he didn’t trust himself when he was like that; when he had to grip himself through his jeans and shut his eyes because he wanted it so bad. So he turned Liam down, and tormented himself for a few more hours, curled up into a ball on the living room couch, willing his mind and his body to just stop. But it was useless. He just kept thinking about that morning, how it felt to have Niall suck him off in the shower before he went to work. He’d been practically purring around his dick, eyes squeezed shut, pushing past his gag reflex as he took Harry further than he ever had before, throat fluttering around his girth, swallowing the precum dripping from its tip. 

Five minutes later, Harry got into his car and drove to the school before he could talk himself out of it.

 

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Niall rose up from his desk when Harry entered the classroom, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. He was looking at the flush of Harry’s skin, and the way his eyes were wide and slightly wild beneath his lashes. “Is everything okay?”

Harry didn’t respond, just walked around the desk and took Niall’s face in his hands, kissing him so hard he felt teeth. “Fucking missed you,” He murmured into his mouth, hands trailing around Niall’s back to grip his ass through his dark jeans. Niall gasped into his mouth, melted into Harry’s touch. “Need to fuck you,” He whispered on an exhale, bending to bite at Niall’s neck and jaw. 

“Harry,” He rasped weakly, head falling back against the whiteboard as Harry started to grind down on his leg. 

“Niall,” Harry sighed back, a whimper in the back of his throat. 

“Harry, just—” Niall managed to put up his hands, push Harry away a few inches. “We can’t do this here.” His lips were a bruised pink color, and his glasses lopsided on his nose, mildly fogged. Even his perfectly-styled blonde hair had been ruffled with Harry’s roaming fingers. Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t so hard he felt like crying instead. 

“Niall, I need you. _I need you,_ ” Harry babbled, feeling out of his mind. But he stepped away, and the backs of his thighs hit the edge of Niall’s desk. 

Niall straightened his glasses and his shirt, then walked over to lock the door and drop all the shades. But he didn’t jump back on Harry; he crossed his arms over his chest and sat on one of the students’ desks, so far away that Harry couldn’t even reach out and touch him. 

“This is my job, Harry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We can’t.”

Harry knew he was right, but he didn’t say so. Just bit his lip and cast his eyes down. 

Niall continued. “Right now this is the only steady income we’ve got. We’ve almost used up the last of the money from your last book, and you’re nowhere near finished with the second one.” 

_Barely even started it,_ Harry thought. And he felt angry suddenly. Fucking pissed, because he didn’t want to talk about finances, or jobs, or the future… he just wanted to get off with his boyfriend. 

“I know,” Harry said, walking around the desk and approaching Niall with careful steps. Niall’s eyes watched him warily, beneath a frown. But his mouth betrayed him, parted for his sharp breaths, lips wet with spit from when he’d licked his tongue over them, glancing at the strain of Harry’s hard-on in his jeans. “But I don’t want you to worry… just want you to feel good.” Harry got close enough to touch him again, and settled his hands on Niall’s hips.

Niall clenched his jaw, breathed in harsh through his nose.

“I can leave…if you want…” Harry kissed the words into the skin behind Niall’s ear, exhaling hot air there. 

Niall whimpered then. And that was it, he was done for.

“Sit back on the desk and get your pants down,” Harry grinned, already dropping to his knees. “Gonna blow you.”

 

***

 

November 26th, Thanksgiving Day

 

Louis’ apartment was far too small to host Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone knew that. But they humored him, because he’d complained countless times that he never got to host anything at his place. So fifteen or more people squeezed into his relatively cramped two-bedroom apartment, pretending not to sweat or be uncomfortable, as they all got in where they could fit in, holding their plates on their knees as they ate.

“Why do we indulge him like this?” Harry hissed. He was squashed between Liam and Niall on the couch, and he couldn’t even move his elbows to eat. 

“He’s fragile,” Niall said.

“He’s unstable,” Liam agreed. 

“It’s been a month since the breakup—he’s usually moved on three times over by now.” Harry murmured, glancing over at Louis in the kitchen, tossing his head back in a laugh at somebody’s joke. The thing with Louis was, the more upset he was, the more determined he was to have fun and be reckless. According to Niall, Louis adopted a puppy once during University and hid it in their dorm for days, but the puppy found Niall’s headache medication and ate it while Louis was away at classes one day. Louis came back that evening to find him dead on the floor. 

For two weeks after that, Louis was drunk off his ass every day, partying every night, and very nearly failed the semester. Lost his damn mind. 

“Just be happy we’re not picking him up from random clubs and cleaning vomit off his floors.” Niall murmured, shuffling his fork through lukewarm green beans. 

“Yeah, but Harry’s right. What was it with that guy?” Liam asked, leaning forward to look at Niall. “We never even got to meet him, but Louis’ acting like he was in love with him.”

Niall shook his head, shrugged. Harry placed a hand on his knee, encouraging him on. “He was in love with him.” Niall sighed eventually. “’S what he claimed, anyway. I never met him either.”

“Couldn’t have been that serious if we never even met him.” Liam muttered. He glanced at his phone, clenched his jaw, and slid it in his pocket.

“Louis said he’s shy. Like super antisocial.” Niall explained, not sounding so sure of it himself. “He’s an artist, spends all his time indoors inhaling paint fumes.”

“Sounds like a catch,” Harry muttered. He looked over at Louis in the kitchen, grinning with his full mouth, clutching his chest with one hand as he laughed. “Whoever he is, he’s a jerk.”

Liam and Niall muttered their approval. 

“Well, lads, I’ve got to get going.” Liam said suddenly, standing and setting his half-empty plate on the coffee table. He stretched, dusted a few crumbs off his pants.

“Where are you off to?” Harry raised a brow at him and narrowed his eyes. It was enough to get Liam smiling.

“My parents are coming over my place for dinner tonight. Sophia’s cooking. It’s just something small.”

“As in _we’re not invited._ I see.” Harry lifted his chin in mock offense and made a show of swiping his hair out of his face.

“No, you’re not.” Liam laughed. “Can’t have you two idiots coming along, messing shit up.”

“Well don’t hold back,” Niall chuckled.

Liam grinned harder, tugged on his coat.

“Are Sophia’s parents in town, too?” Harry asked.

A shadow ghosted over Liam’s face then, and suddenly Harry wished he hadn’t asked. “No, not this year. Her mom’s afraid of flying, and we just don’t have the time to go to them…so…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, visibly stressed over the subject. “We’ve been fighting a lot again. But it’s…it’s okay, we’ll pull it together. We always do.”

Niall and Harry looked up at him and nodded empathetically. “You guys can make it through this,” Niall said.

“Thanks, mate.” Liam smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t sound very convinced.

 

***

 

Later that night, after saying their goodbyes to Louis and taking the stairs two at a time to get down to the main floor, Harry and Niall found themselves outside in front of the apartment building, just breathing in the night air. It was cool and fresh, and felt amazing in their lungs after the stuffy, overly hot area they’d been inhabiting for the last two hours. 

“Never again,” Niall laughed. “My claustrophobia was flaring up in there.”

Harry chuckled, kicked some dirty snow off the sidewalk with his boot. “You say that like it’s a recurring rash or something.”

Niall scrunched up his nose and scratched at his chin, then laughed loudly. He’d had a few beers, and his body was loose with it. 

Harry smirked as he walked up to him and grabbed Niall’s hands to slip them down into the back pockets of his own jeans. He closed his eyes and sighed as Niall gripped his ass, hard, with clumsy hands. “Let’s fuck in the car,” He muttered into Niall’s hair. 

Niall giggled, but ultimately pulled away, dragging out a tortured little whimper of protest from Harry. “Let’s just go home. Maybe turn on that spy movie we’ve been meaning to watch?”

Harry nodded, but all he wanted was to feel full with Niall, have hands roaming over his body and taking him as high as he could go. He wanted to feel it in his toes when he came, sweet and infinitely blissful. Enough to have them both dozing off to sleep immediately afterwards, wrapped in each other’s arms until the morning when they’d do it all again. 

Niall was on break from classes for the rest of the week, but when he wasn’t, they’d taken to fucking on his desk during his lunch hour. The first time, Niall’d bent Harry over the desk and rimmed him until he was crying out for it, bucking back against Niall’s tongue. A few times after that, Harry’d pulled Niall into his lap and fucked him like that, Harry’s bare ass and thighs threatening to stick to the leather of his chair with sweat. It was quick and desperate, and they both came so hard after that they could hardly see, but it made Harry feel alive. 

“I don’t really want to watch the spy movie,” Harry finally said.

But Niall just chuckled and shrugged, already starting for the car. “Another movie then. I wanna cuddle with you.” 

So they went home and they cuddled. But Harry felt like he was going out of his mind.

 

***

 

December 6th

 

“Fuck Harry!” Niall bit it into Harry’s shoulder, wrapping his legs tighter around his waist. His arms were sweaty around Harry’s neck, and constantly shifting as Harry snapped his hips back and forth, chasing his release, banging Niall hard into the wall. 

A stuttered moan slipped out of Harry as he came, knees wobbling, barely holding Niall up as he came too, all over his pale torso. 

They were in a broom closet of sorts, stumbling over mops and cleaning supplies as they both did up their pants again, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of semen drying cold and hard over their skin. Harry tied off the condom and discreetly tossed it into the trash when they walked out, one by one, into the kitchen. If anyone were paying any actual attention to them, it would be obvious they’d just had sex from the ruddy color of Niall’s cheeks, and the way Harry’s hair was wild and mussed around his head from where Niall had pulled on it. But as it was, they were in the middle of a cocktail party—crawling with teachers and PTA moms, and coaches and the principal, somewhere—and nobody was paying them much mind, already having downed enough champagne to start loosening up at the edges. Still, they were Niall’s coworkers, the people who saw him every day in his shirt and ties, sporting black-rimmed glasses and brown loafers. They knew nothing about Harry’s Niall; the man who enjoyed fucking in broom closets ten feet away from his boss because it gave him a high he couldn’t explain. The man who would break skin biting Harry’s shoulder because it felt so fucking good, he couldn’t stop. 

Or maybe it was Harry who couldn’t stop.

“Why haven’t we ever made love?” Niall asked him much later that night, shortly after Harry’d turned off the lamplight, leaving their bedroom in total darkness. They shifted towards each other on the mattress, locking eyes. Niall’s were big and blue and slightly sad as they looked at Harry.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“We’ve never made love,” Niall said again. “It’s always quick, frantic…like we’re in a hurry or something. And rough—I found three bruises on me in the shower today, Haz.”

Harry chuckled. “I’ve got bruises from you, too. In the shape of your teeth mostly.”

“Harry, I’m serious.”

“Alright, do you want to make love?”

Niall scoffed, looked at Harry in disbelief. “Well don’t let me force your hand in it.”

“You aren’t.” Harry sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I do love you.”

“Do you?”

“Why are you asking me like you need proof?”

“I need proof sometimes, Harry.” Niall said. Then he shook his head and rolled over before Harry could say anything else. “Never mind.”

 

***

 

Present Day

Niall was distant after that. Not because of the things he said, or the way he acted. It was something Harry felt beneath the surface, like staring into dark waters, wondering if something’s staring back at you. When they fucked—mind-bending, breathless, loud—it felt like Harry was alone. He couldn’t explain it, but he was always surprised to find traces of Niall on him afterwards; bruises, scratch marks, little blonde hairs stuck to his clothes. It was starting to weird him out. Almost enough to talk to Niall about it, but not quite.

The sex was still incredible.

It wasn’t until Niall told him he couldn’t do it anymore, that Harry realized he’d let things get out of hand. 

“Babe?” He knocked on their bedroom door twice, but when he got no response, he walked in. Niall was sitting on his side of the bed, head between his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. It startled Harry seeing him like that, enough that he froze there at the door, unsure of what to say or do. What did he used to say to Niall when he was upset?

“What do you want Harry,” The sentence was flat, emotionless. Sounded like music coming from an old record player; far away and crackling. 

“We—” Harry hesitated, but took a few steps forward. He was still standing awkwardly by the bed when Niall looked up at him, face wet with tears, eyes bloodshot. “We should talk,” The words came out as almost a whisper.

Niall blinked at him, then sighed loud and dropped his hands into his lap.

“I like science, you know.” He said, speaking more to the wall than Harry. “I try to see things objectively to make sure I’m not fooling myself. It’s hard to get out of my own head sometimes, so I figured…let’s test this out. See what the real problem is.”

Harry frowned, shuffled from one foot to the other. His heart was beating so fast he felt like he might pass out. “Where are you going with this?”

“Sex is all we ever do anymore. It’s all we have.” Niall shrugged. “I don’t know how it happened, or when—I know you warned me about this, but I didn’t believe you, and now this is where we are. I thought—I was hoping—you were wrong. But since we stopped having sex, it’s like…I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Harry felt something clench around his heart, very very tight. Like something had slithered up in his chest and constricted around it, literally squeezing the life out of him. “You love me. You still love me, don’t you?” The words came out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted it.

But Niall’s eyes softened. He bit his lip, let it go. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

 

The rest of the conversation was a blur. Harry remembered it, but only like a passing observer, watching it happen to someone else.

_I don’t want just sex, Harry. I want conversation and laughter and dinner dates. I want to just lay next to you sometimes without the promise of anything else._

_This relationship has gone from one extreme to the other. It’s fucking me up. First you can’t stand for me to touch you, and now it’s all you want to do._

_I need some time to think._

_We should take a break._

_I’ll start looking for apartments and be out before New Years. ___

***

 

Harry’s fingers were so cold, and he’d forgotten to bring gloves. He was walking on a sidewalk, passing familiar, brightly lit shops, and the wet snow on the ground was starting to seep in through the soles of his old boots. He didn’t know where the fuck he was going—had been practically sleepwalking since he left the house over an hour ago—but he could take a guess.

“We close at nine,” The lady behind the counter warned as she set silverware and a menu down in front of Harry. He’d ducked into the old diner that served the fried garbage he loved so much, the one he used to meet Liam at every day for lunch. It was warm, and there were old Christmas songs playing from the juke box in the corner. For the first time in ages, Harry took a deep breath.

Liam picked up on the first ring, which was impressive, even for him. “Harry? Everything okay?”

Harry drummed his fingers on the countertop, tried to ignore the obnoxious flutter in his chest as he realized Liam’s surprise was due to the fact that Harry rarely ever called him anymore. To talk or do anything. So now it was a shock when Harry called, and not an expectation.

“Hey Li… can you meet me at our old place?” He said into the phone. “I need you…please.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Liam walked in, snowflakes still melting in his hair and on the lapel of his heavy black coat. He somehow managed to look cool, expensive, and like a concerned suburban father all at once.

“No, no, no.” The woman behind the counter waved her hands with a huff and a glare on her wrinkled face. “It’s 8:53. Go on, we’re closed.”

Harry opened his mouth to correct her and say that technically, the diner didn’t close until 9pm, and they still had seven minutes to spare, but the woman’s angry little eyes were enough to shut him up. It probably didn’t help that he’d only ordered a glass of water. 

“Come with me,” Liam patted Harry’s back when he stood, and then dug into the pocket of his coat for a tip to leave. He thanked the woman, and so did Harry, and the two of them walked back out into the cold where Liam’s car was parked by the curb, still warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with this chapter! I know it took me quite a while and I'm sorry about that, but I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> If you read, please leave kudos and any feedback you have! It's highly appreciated, thank you :)
> 
> MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON! I'll try to update as quickly as I can. I already know where I'm going with the story, so that helps. 
> 
> Everything in this story is made up, obviously. Complete and total fiction in every way that should in no way reflect on the actual individuals in this story.


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